The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
by I'mNotGivingMyNameToAMachine
Summary: Oahu, 2054. Rosie has been on a special assignment from the Supreme Flagship for ten years: Observe, study and document human behavior while blending in with them. This will prove most difficult once she crosses paths with the most fascinating human she's ever met: A twenty something, misanthropic, crippled, alcoholic, chain smoking war hero. This odd pair may just change the world
1. Rosie

Author's Note; Prologue:

Hello there! It's not very often I'm passionate about an already existing story or universe that I write a fanfic about it, but the world of Arpeggio of Blue Steel definitely did just that. So, this story (and most importantly and especially the characters) sort of just effortlessly came to me and I figured, hey, why not write that story? Any excuse to practice writing is a good one, so here I am.  
As far as the story itself goes, it will focus on my two leads, who are indeed original characters, but existing characters like the I-401 crew and Yamato will also be factoring in eventually. In that regard, I'll be sticking to the story of the manga and _not_ the anime, because that story appeals to me far more than the vastly edited, abridged and altered one of the anime.  
I plan this on being a slow burning character drama, for the first part at least. The two leads have a lot of character establishing and building that I want do, so if you're the sort of person who likes to see a drama unfold between two very different people, that's exactly what's going to happen here. There will be action, of course (it's a story in a world of warships, after all!) but my leads come first.  
So, with all of that out of the way, please enjoy! And of course, any and all feedback is absolutely appreciated. I'm trying to actually become a novelist, so that holds especially true for me.

Thanks again!

* * *

 **The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea**

She felt herself hit the pavement. Hard. She felt the impact perfectly; what she didn't feel was pain, something she had yet to develop a personal concept of. Even after a decade among humans and countless hours spent interacting with them, studying them, mimicking them, there was only so much she had really learned how to interpret and project and physical pain was not one of those traits.

Moving slowly enough to not provoke a more angered reaction, she looked up at her attacker, trying to enact a look of fear to hide her true state of curiosity. She'd never truly been attacked by a human before; she'd been threatened a few times, but something or someone had always intervened first. Not this time, it would seem.

Lurking over her was the human male who had just tossed her to the paved road like a rag doll. He was a large man, as far as Caucasian males of the species went, easily a foot and half taller than she was and over twice her weight and he had a gleam in his eyes that she had witnessed and studied dozens of times before, only this one was more intense, perhaps because it wasn't restrained by any societal restrictions. It was just the two of them here and, in his view, he had all of the power in the world.

This is was quickly turning into a fascinating chance at observation.

Calculating what a small human female would say in such a defenseless situation, she modulated her voice accordingly, trying to inject as much fear as she could into her tone.

"Please... Don't hurt me..."

The man smiled viciously. She was aware enough to know she wasn't the best actress in the world (acting, that human concept she found most fascinating of all, given her current long term assignment) but he seemed to be buying that she was afraid.

"Oh, don't worry, little girl. If you behave, I won't hurt you one bit." His eyes gleamed down at her predatorily and even in the fading light (though, of course, she could see perfectly in even the most pitch black of conditions) she was sure that even a human girl would have figured out what that look meant. "You might even have a little _fun_. Maybe, if you're really fucking nice to me, I'll let you go when I'm done."

It was exactly as she had thought. She had yet to have any sexual interactions with a human, consensual or otherwise, despite the fact that her thorough research of human anatomy had allowed her to shape and modify her mental model to replicate a human female down to the most finite detail. In fact, she was convinced that even a Doctor wouldn't be able to tell the difference, provided she put enough computational power into keeping troublesome things like blood looking as realistic as possible.

Instantaneously calculating further, she decided that she wouldn't defend herself just yet. She had also decided that the experiment of intercourse would probably be best initially conducted consensually, whenever she ultimately got around to it. Not right this second, at any rate. This man wouldn't get what he was after, but she definitely wanted to study this behavior further before rendering him unconscious and proceeding on her merry way. And to think, she had only been on this island for forty-seven minutes and this was the very first human she had encountered here! She would get to study firsthand, to some extent, some of the very darkest human behavior imaginable.

At least, for a few moments, she thought she would.

Swiveling her head left at the noise of footsteps on the pavement, she became aware of another man's presence only a second and a half before he announced himself.

"Okay, here's how this is going to play, motherfucker," the second man seethed, his voice like cold iron, gripping in both hands what she identified as a small, silver pistol with level determination at the first man. "You're going to get face down on the ground, extend your arms fully out with your palms facing the sky, or I will fucking _drop_ you."

Turning back to face the first man, not even bothering to mask her excitement at this opportunity to study some truly wonderful human drama play out before her, she examined the look on the first man's face. If he was afraid at this new player with the gun, he certainly wasn't showing it.

"Hey, man," the first man said with a disarming smile, extending his arms out to the side in what she knew to mean a shrug. "We were just having a little bit of fun. She's with me. You've totally got this all wrong."

"Yeah, I'm pretty stupid, but I'm not _that_ goddamn stupid," the man with the gun responded with a snort. "I repeat, if you want to remain devoid of additional holes, you will get on the ground. _Now_."

Despite the fact that she could easily detect the anger in the man with the gun's tone, he was refraining from shouting or even raising his voice. She observed him intently, as he walked slowly and methodically towards them and she was a little taken aback at the man's gait. He was limping and it was obvious (to her, at least) that he was in some sort of pain. But, one wouldn't have thought that much judging by his face alone (which was an orderly mix of calm determination with just a hint of rage) most humans, she would imagine, wouldn't be able to detect the pain. Observe the limp of course, but perhaps not detect the amount of pain that it was plainly clear to her that he was in.

The first man certainly detected the limp, and, dropping all facade of a friendly demeanor, re-adorned the malicious grin from before.

"Okay, _cripple_. I don't believe for a fucking second you have the balls to shoot me. So, why don't you just stumble on back to where you came from. Me and her? This don't fucking concern you."

The man with the gun stopped, about twenty feet from the first man, who was now turned to face him, and her, who was sitting on the ground, her knees pulled close to her chest utterly transfixed on what was unfolding before her.

"Besides," the first man continued. "That's a tiny fucking gun. Even if you _did_ shoot me, that pussy thing wouldn't do shit to me except piss me off."

Now it was the man with the gun's turn to smile. "Oh, this _certainly_ concerns me. Plus, I can piss you off eight times before I even have to reload. So, you have two options: One, you do as I've instructed and get your ass on the ground, or we'll see just how many times I have to piss you off before you hit the ground, anyway. Your call, sweetheart."

There was a brief pause, that must've, for humans, felt like an eternity. She had heard more than one human remark on the perceived phenomenon of time slowing down during certain situations, likely due to adrenaline and other factors and she briefly wondered if she would ever experience such a thing herself. Granted, at the speed at which she computed information, she was positive that her perspective was drastically slowed compared to that of a human's, but she was used to that perspective. It was the only one she had ever had. So, she waited in her own personal, calm and collected eternity for whatever would happen next, trying to crunch the odds on how things would play out. Would the first man do as the man with the gun had instructed? Would this get violent? What would happen next? She was just beginning to determine numerical odds, based on her experiences (and perhaps was even getting a little more excited) when the first man swiftly pulled a large knife from his pocket, flipped the blade open and began sprinting at the man with the gun.

He got only a single step before the first shot rang out. She watched, frozen, as the first bullet caught the man square in the chest and she heard the man exhale, obviously winded. The second bullet impacted his right shoulder, spinning him slightly. The third and fourth bullets also hit him in the chest and the man, carried by his forward momentum, staggered another eight feet before hitting the pavement face first a full ten feet from the man with the gun, who's facial expression hadn't changed in the slightest.

She didn't make a sound and even nearly forgot to continue simulating breathing, she was so enraptured by what she was seeing. She had never, not once, witnessed such violence before. She had researched it and studied it, but had never seen it herself. She'd seen police make arrests and had even witnessed three bar fights and a dozen other scuffles, but this was the first time she had even seen a gun employed for it's designed purpose.

It was utterly fascinating.

The man wielding the gun didn't skip a beat. With a measured pace, he limped to the downed man, who was still breathing and gurgling on the ground, unwilling or unable to move.

Stopping out of arm's reach, the man leveled the pistol at the back of the downed man's head.

"I told you," he whispered, seething. "I fucking _told_ you, you dumb fuck. And just look at you now."

And with that he fired a final shot and the downed man stopped breathing.

She almost did, too, but remembered to continue. She definitely had to keep blending in; she wanted so very much to study whatever would happen next and being human was the most important aspect of that.

Studying the man he had just shot for another few seconds, seemingly to make sure he was dead, the man with the gun suddenly looked up, catching her eyes with his own. She was amazed at the disparity between the look in this man's face before and the look he had now. It was full of concern, of genuine concern. This surprised her a little.

"Ma'am?" He started quietly, his voice also reflecting his concern. "Are you all right?"

She decided to continue playing the quiet girl card, one that had worked exceedingly well on countless occasions before. She simply returned his stare for another few moments before nodding slowly.

"Are you sure? I saw him throw you. Looked kind of rough." The man smiled a little, no doubt trying to make her feel more at ease. If only he knew that she was quite calm. That she, in fact, was never in any danger at all in the first place.

His voice was a little gruff and it had a slight purr to it. Though, she could tell from before that he could speak quite loudly, even without shouting, he was trying to keep his voice somewhat soft while he spoke to her.

Letting his last remark remain floating around in the air without responding to it, she opted to instead continue meeting his gaze and hugging her legs closer to her chest for the added effect of looking helpless.

He frowned slightly, hopefully dissatisfied with her affirmation that she was unharmed. He was Caucasian and tall (though not as tall as her attacker) and weighed around two hundred pounds (she hated utilizing the measurement system used in this country, but given her assignment, she forced herself to do so) and he had short, cropped brown hair. He was young, perhaps twenty-four or twenty-five (she had never gotten overly entirely accurate in her age estimations of humans) and wore simple clothing that contrasted somewhat with the nature of the weapon he still held in his right hand.

"What's your name?" he asked, finally.

She looked away for a moment, closing her eyes, before returning his gaze and finally replying to him.

"Rosie. My name is Rosie."

* * *

Author's Note:

The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, by Brendan Perry


	2. Marcus

"Rosie..." He let the name flow off his tongue, testing it for the first time. It was a pretty name for a pretty girl, he thought, and even though thoughts like that should have been the furthest from his mind, given the circumstances (not to mention the warmth of whiskey currently running through his veins) and the fact that his primary purpose now should be to ascertain her physical condition, seeing if she was okay, he was still enraptured by her appearance.

She was absolutely gorgeous.

He then tried to shake off the thought. He wasn't buying that Rosie (he also then briefly wondered if that was even her real name) was completely unharmed. Her attacker had thrown her quite hard and he was close enough a witness (and still sober enough) to gauge that hitting the ground like that would have likely caused some measure of injury; even just a sprained ankle, or something.

He gave the girl another, more thorough glance, trying to find any bruising, blood or other evidence of injury. She was tiny. Even sitting, folded up as she was he could tell she was small. What he couldn't tell was how old she was. She could have been in her mid-teens or even mid-twenties; it was impossible to ascertain, for whatever reason. If she was indeed a teenager, that begged the question with even more emphasis on what exactly she was doing all the way out her by herself. Everyone on Oahu knew Iroquois Point and the other parts of the island near it like Ewa Beach and Kapolei were strictly off limits to civilians, given their proximity to the joint Air Force and Navel base and the only reason he was even allowed here was due to special permission.

He met the girl's stare again and couldn't even begin to guess what she was thinking. She had just witnessed a man's death and he knew perfectly how shocking and traumatic that that could be. He wished he hadn't had to kill the man, or that she had to see it, but he was left with very few other alternatives.

Blood was now pooling around the attacker's body and he knew that she had followed his glance. He now needed to focus on keeping her mind occupied on something other than the dead man in the street.

He pulled one of the two fresh magazines from his belt pouch and swapped it for the one in his pistol (and most prized possession), a Smith & Wesson manufactured Walther PPK/S chambered in .380 Auto, and satisfied that he was fully reloaded, in case someone or something else unexpected decided to show up, he returned the weapon to his concealed, inside the waistband holster next to his right hip. She observed him doing this of course, but didn't say a word.

"I'm Marcus," he finally said, making sure his black T-shirt and black hoodie sweatshirt covered the pistol, before deciding instead to pull his sweatshirt off and slowly approach the girl, trying to hide his limp the best he could. She didn't move in the slightest, even as he extended his arm and offered his bunched up sweatshirt to her.

"Here," he said. "It's a little cold tonight and you're not exactly dressed the part."

And it was true. She only wore a pale red sundress and red ballet flat shoes and it was a cool night by Oahu standards. So, this girl, whoever she was, was in the middle of a no trespassing zone and wasn't even remotely dressed appropriately to boot.

She just continued staring at him; he was a little surprised she had even spoken enough to offer her name.

He sighed. "Please take it. I have a phone call I need to make and I'll feel a whole lot better if I know you're somewhat comfortable while I do."

Rosie thought on this for a moment, before brushing a lock of her long, flowing red hair out of her face and slowly extending her hand and accepting his sweatshirt.

"Who're you going to call?" she asked, her voice small and delicate, much like she was.

"Air Force Security Forces," he replied, pulling a zippered pouch from his pocket and opening it to reveal a broken down cellular phone, including main body, battery, and information card. He expertly assembled the pieces, and dialed the number he had forced himself to memorize. "They need to know about anything bizarre that happens in this area. I'm actually kind of surprised we haven't seen one of their vehicles, either from a coincidental patrol, or because of the whole gunshots thing."

He put the phone to his ear. "It's fine; I know a lot of them personally. Oh, and my feeling better is mostly contingent on you putting that _on,_ " he said wryly, trying to be as friendly as possible, as the phone dialing tone buzzed in his ear.

An annoyed sounding Staff Sergeant, one he had never spoken to before, picked up the phone and Marcus concisely relayed the situation and their location to the man, who estimated a patrol would be there in five to seven minutes.

Satisfied, yet wondering if the Staff Sergeant could tell he was somewhat drunk, or just maybe assumed so based on who he was, Marcus broke down the phone and returned the pieces to their zippered pouch.

"Why do you keep your phone like that?" Rosie asked quizzically.

"To keep people from tracking me," he replied, returning the pouch to its assigned pocket. "Just because they know where I live doesn't mean I want them to know where exactly I am all the time. At any rate, if I keep my phone on I tend to get phone calls and I don't like getting phone calls."

Marcus looked at her again. She had put the sweatshirt on and had wrapped it over her folded legs. She was so tiny, that his sweatshirt completely covered her as she sat like that and it would have likely nearly reached her knees if she had been standing.

"Plus, who knows if the Fog can track phones," he continued, using a joking tone. "I'd rather not be sitting at home and have a warhead land on me."

Was it just Marcus's imagination, or did he see her jump ever so slightly at the mention of the Fog? It was probably nothing. "So, Rosie, what exactly are you doing out here? You are aware that this area's restricted, yes?"

"No, I wasn't aware," she replied, blinking. "Why is it restricted?"

Marcus just stared. To his knowledge, everyone on Oahu (and probably _anyone_ left on any of the Hawaiian islands) were perfectly aware of the rules.

"Um, are you serious...?" he asked. "You don't know? Rosie, do you _know_ where you are?"

She nodded. "Of course I do. This is Oahu island, the most populated island of the state of Hawaii. This should be Iroquois Point."

"Well, you're not wrong," Marcus sighed again. "Where do you live? Surely you live somewhere on Oahu?"

Rosie's response was just to stare, which was rapidly becoming more common than any other response.

"I'm being serious, here," Marcus said. "They're going to ask you all the same questions that I am and if they're not satisfied with the answers, you'll likely be arrested."

If this revelation startled her, she certainly didn't show it.

"I'd rather not be arrested," she said finally, calmly. "Could you please not let that happen?"

"Well, I..." Marcus stammered, not sure what exactly to say. "That's not up to me..."

She blinked at him and if possible looked even smaller than before. "Please...?"

This whole situation was really starting to confuse Marcus. Seriously, who was this girl? Why was she being so difficult in identifying herself? Everyone in Hawaii was supposed to know to rules: Always identify yourself, know where you live, know who you live with, know exactly where you work and what you do for a living. This girl either knew all of this and was breaking the most important rule of all and wasn't disclosing any of it, or she genuinely didn't know. Marcus wasn't sure which of these situations was preferable. Either would result in arrest, detainment and interrogation at the hands of the Air Force Security Forces, who were likely rapidly approaching.

Was she a scavenger, maybe? Marcus only gave the thought a few moments, before concluding, based on the girl's general appearance, attire and lack of any tools that she wasn't.

Her attacker was certainly a scavenger. Before assaulting Rosie he had dropped a large backpack of tools and and even larger duffel bag laden with copper pipes, both of which now sat a couple yards away. Marcus looked around the neighborhood which had been abandoned for nearly fifteen years; he looked at all the houses, totally devoid of life, most of them obviously broken down or broken into. He had been dealing with scavengers ever since opting to live here, the sole resident of the entire area and this girl definitely didn't fit that mold.

"What are you doing out here?" Marcus asked again, trying to inflect a tone of concern.

Rosie didn't answer for a moment, before responding with one word.

"Learning."

Marcus didn't know what answer to expect, but it certainly wasn't that one. "Um, come again?"

"I'm learning," Rosie repeated, moving another strand of hair away from her eyes.

"Okay..." Marcus began. "So, um, what have we learned tonight?"

"That humans, when unrestricted by the norms and laws of society, can become quite primal and little better or more evolved than any other non-sentient mammal. Of course, I was already aware of that, but it's nice to observe it myself."

Jesus Christ, Marcus thought. There may've been something a little unhinged about this girl. Marcus did a quick mental rundown, trying to remember if there were any psychiatric hospitals nearby that this girl might have escaped from before ending up in the middle of Iroquois Point, a notoriously restricted area, and then almost being assaulted by a scavenger. If that were the case, she may have had a more interesting day than Marcus had had. But, to the best of Marcus's memory, any psychiatric installations left on Oahu were likely in Honolulu or towards Mililani and the center of the island with those two places being home to the majority of humanity that was still left here. If she had come from either of those locations, she had sure traveled a long way to get here.

"Did you know him?" Marcus gestured to the body of Rosie's attacker, whose pool of blood was slowly expanding further in every direction.

"No," she shook her head. "I've never seen him before. I wanted to talk to him a little and get some directions, but I suppose he didn't want to help me."

Marcus snorted. "No, he certainly didn't."

How in the world did this girl not only not have the good sense not to trespass in locations restricted by Government mandate and on top of that, try to willingly approach those who were also there illegally? It all made no sense to him how someone could show such a disregard for their own safety, but then again, nothing about this girl really made any sense to him.

"Do you always carry a gun?" she asked, cocking her head to look a his hip, where the PPK/S was now holstered.

Reflexively checking to make sure the firearm was concealed, he replied, "Yeah. Have to. It's sort of an unfriendly neighborhood, as you might be able to gather."

" _You_ seem friendly enough. Have you shot many people?"

Taken aback by her sudden directness, Marcus thought quickly for a diplomatic answer to that. "No, thankfully not."

A lie, of course. No reason to say anything that might scare her. Not that she seemed overly scared, which was one of the things that was unsettling him the most. Regardless, hopefully he could resolve this, get the Air Force to leave them alone and get this girl back to wherever it was she came from.

"But we're getting off topic," Marcus deftly changed the conversation back to something a little more pertinent. He couldn't see the lights yet, but he could hear the quickly approaching vehicles of the Air Force Security Forces patrol, their sirens being the giveaway. It sounded like at least one armored Humvee and an Armored Personal Carrier. Leave it to the Air Force (and probably Brigadier General Carter) to dramatically overreact to a scavenger shooting. It wasn't like Marcus hadn't been in similar situations before. How many times did he have to tell them that, generally speaking, he was fine and when he notified them of a relatively minor incident he didn't exactly need a whole battalion to come to his aid?

"They're going to be here in just a couple minutes. Listen, I want to help you, I really do, but you have to give me _something_ I can tell them so they don't flip out, which is _always_ their first reaction to anything."

"What do I need to tell you?"

Was she even listening?

"Really...?" Marcus was actually starting to become stressed, whiskey notwithstanding. "Okay, and I'm not being funny here, you have about a minute, maybe ninety seconds to tell me exactly who you are and where you live before they get here. I can probably keep them off of you, but you have to tell me something, _anything_ , so I can help you."

Rosie met his gaze and just stared for a moment, hopefully understanding and thinking on what he'd just said. Moving for the first time, she stood up elegantly, not showing any sort of discomfort or pain despite the fact that she had just been tossed around by someone over twice her size. Marcus's estimation was right and his sweatshirt draped over her frame, nearly reaching her knees. Only a couple of inches of her red sundress poked out from under it. With a sweep of her hand, she extracted her flowing hair from the confines of the sweatshirt and let it drape down her back. Her hair was quite long, reaching just below her waist. She didn't have it done up in any way at all, but it still framed her delicate, elfin face perfectly.

Once again finding himself distracted by her appearance, he tried yet again to shift his attention to more pressing matters. He was just about to do so when a set of headlights, quickly followed by a second came into view just down the street.

"Son of a bitch; no time now." Marcus turned to Rosie. "Okay, just play it cool. Don't look threatening, don't look guilty and whatever you do, for the love of _God_ , don't run. They see you doing that, the best you can hope for is immediate detainment. There's even a chance they could start shooting if I'm not able to get any words in first."

Marcus sighed, trying to mentally prepare for what was coming. He was thankful, not for the first time in the last fifteen minutes, that he hadn't hit the bottle _too_ hard before his walk.

"Now, get your I.D. out and just let me do all the talking."

"What I.D.? An American passport?" Rosie asked innocently.

Marcus felt a stone drop in his stomach. "Uh, I'm sorry, what?"

"What sort of identification do I need to have?"

Marcus blinked. "Oh, fuck."

* * *

Author's Note:

Ocean, by Dead Can Dance


	3. Legend

"Godfucking _dammit_ ," Marcus spat, clearly agitated at the situation. He certainly used a lot of profanity, Rosie noted. She was very impressed, however, when he had told her not to run, because she had been calculating the odds of escaping at the very moment he had said it. Of course, these humans couldn't damage her in the slightest; it was only an armored SUV and a larger armored vehicle. She'd be perfectly capable of disarming them all, rendering them all unconscious and leaving without sustaining so much as a scratch.

She would never, under any circumstances, submit herself to any form of human capture or confinement. Not because she couldn't escape (she easily could, from any location she might be imprisoned at) but because any chance of her being found out as being part of the Fog was utterly unacceptable. And not for the reasons one would think, either. It wasn't because they could glean some sort of important information about the Fog, it was because that if Rosie was, against all odds, captured or even found out for what she was, then humanity would know she had been among them, studying them. They would perhaps tighten all of their security (especially in America, where her entire ten years had been spent) and it would be become more troublesome, maybe even impossible for her or any other mental model to easily collect further information on them.

Rosie had learned so very much about humanity over the past ten years, most specifically and importantly about emotion. She had even begun experiencing it herself very quickly while among those emotional creatures. She couldn't compromise further study. Supreme Flagship Yamato had been explicit on the importance of this mission and Rosie's continued dedication to its success.

And now after all that time and after finally leaving the continental United States for the small, isolated and completely cut off state of Hawaii, she had, within an hour, found perhaps the most interesting human subject she had ever seen.

Here was a man who had just, seemingly as easily as breathing, killed another human to defend her. The irony, of course, was not lost on her in the slightest. Her attacker would have never, in a million years or a million chances succeeded in harming her. His death was utterly meaningless. But Marcus didn't know that.

Marcus had reacted in such a way, with such speed and precision (for a human) that Rosie was genuinely shocked. It was rare to see a human so composed and sure of their actions. Had _she_ been a human, Rosie was sure she would have been incredibly grateful for what Marcus had just done for her and what he was seemingly still set on doing for her.

What compounded her fascination with all of this even further was that Marcus was, to Rosie at least, clearly intoxicated. Once he was close enough, her olfactory scanners had noticed a very high alcohol content in his breath and she further noticed a slight wobble that was not attributable to his limp. She had studied the human commodity known as alcohol quite intensely. It amazed her how creatures with such a finite amount of life would make choices that would inevitably only serve to shorten what little time they had, but it was something that was extraordinarily common.

The armored vehicles were only a few seconds away and Rosie watched as Marcus waved to the vehicles and (as if to further emphasize her thoughts on the self destructive habits of humans) pulled a cigarette from a metal case in his pocket and lit it with a lighter stored in a pouch on his belt. It was a move so fluid that he obviously had performed it on numerous occasions before.

Yes, this was most certainly a human that she needed to study further.

"Okay, try not to say too much and don't contradict _anything_ I say, okay?" Marcus said, smiling at the lead vehicle as he was bathed in the light from it's headlights and not at all turning to speak to her. "And stay calm. I've got this."

The vehicles screeched to a stop only a few yards in front of Marcus, who was standing in between the lead SUV (a Humvee, Rosie identified) and Rosie, who was a few feet behind him. The second vehicle was a large, eight wheeled monstrosity that Rosie knew was called an Armored Personnel Carrier

A uniformed and helmeted Airman manning the rather large machine gun turret on the Humvee shouted "Identify yourself!"

"Senior Master Sergeant Marcus Hardy," Marcus responded, calmly and clearly "The girl behind me is my friend Rosie. She's with me."

Rosie glanced at Marcus before returning her gaze to the Airman in the Humvee.

"Like I've reported, we were jumped by that scavenger laying in the road right over there," Marcus gestured to the downed man in the pool of blood behind them with one hand while taking a long drag off his cigarette with the other. "He's quite dead; got what he deserved. We're both fine and we'll be returning to my home after I give my statement."

"Where's your I.D.?" the Airman barked.

"In my pocket, dipshit!" Marcus retorted. "I know for a _fact_ there's someone in one of these vehicles who knows who I am."

And on cue with this, the front passenger door of the lead Humvee opened and another uniformed, helmeted and body armor clad Airman with a holstered sidearm stepped out, only this man had a jovial smile.

"It's cool, Airman," this new player said. "I know him."

"Technical Sergeant Sullivan, you fucking asshole," Marcus said, puffing on his cigarette. "I should have figured."

Sullivan raised his hand to silence communication for a moment before speaking into a handheld radio. "Alarm, Storm Three. Storm Three and Storm One are on location at the corner of Marina and Dovekie. Have made positive contact with Hero, plus one. Stand by for further."

A garbled reply of affirmation came over the radio before Sullivan turned his attention back to Marcus. He walked over, stopped a few feet in front of Marcus and snapped a sharp military salute, which was returned with some obvious reluctance.

Rosie was fluent enough in human (specifically American) military etiquette to figure out what was going on.

"It's good to see you, boss," Sullivan said, shaking Marcus's hand. "Out for another walk with some scavenger killing on the side?"

"Yeah," Marcus said flatly, with no hint of satisfaction. "It's just what I do, apparently."

"Where's your cane, man?" Sullivan asked, looking around.

Rosie had noticed that Marcus seemed to have an issue standing, as his face was reflecting a good deal of pain. She was a little irritated with herself that it hadn't even occurred to her that he needed an implement to help him walk.

"It's over there," Marcus nodded his head in the direction behind the body of Rosie's attacker. "Dropped it before shooting the hell out of a wannabe rapist."

"I'll grab it for you in a sec. And I'm not surprised! That girl's a keeper. You're literally having to fight dudes off with a stick!" Sullivan lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper which Rosie heard perfectly. "Haven't been drinking too much, have you? Pretty girl like that, you need to kinda maintain a certain level of clarity, know what I mean?"

Marcus shook his head, not amused, it seemed to Rosie, by Sullivan's banter. "It ain't like that. She's just a friend."

Sullivan looked aghast. "Okay, brother," he glanced at Rosie. "Your loss... She have her I.D.?"

"It's at the house," Marcus nodded. "Didn't even think to tell her to grab it."

"Well, that's fine," Sullivan shrugged, "That's all I nee-"

"Is there a problem, Technical Sergeant?" A new voice and footsteps came from the direction of the larger armored vehicle.

Sullivan spun on his heel to face the speaker, a younger man in uniform with identical gear and attire to Sullivan with a holstered sidearm of his own whose posture reflected an air of leadership.

"No problem, Lieutenant. Just starting to get the Senior Master Sergeant's statement. You haven't met the man, have you, sir?"

The young Lieutenant stopped and also saluted Marcus, who didn't return it this time. "I haven't had the privilege, no." He extended his hand. "Second Lieutenant Burrell. It's an absolute honor, Senior Master Sergeant. You and your father's exploits are required studying for all military personnel on Hawaii."

Marcus extended his hand slowly, shaking the Lieutenant's hand more out of sense of obligation, it seemed to Rosie, than anything else.

"Yes, I'm aware." Marcus replied coolly, exhaling smoke. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Lieutenant? I'm giving my statement to Sergeant Sullivan and then I'll be escorting my friend home. It's been a long night."

"Of course!" Burrell replied. Now, if I could see both your I.D.s, we can get that out of the way."

"Everyone knows who I am," Marcus stated, agitation beginning to show in his voice.

"That may be true," Burrell shrugged, "But procedure dictates a full identification check of all personnel, civilian or otherwise in circumstances just like this one. I'm going to need to see both your I.D.s."

Throwing his cigarette butt on the ground and stepping on it to smother the ember, Marcus shook his head. "No, Lieutenant. I've had a long day and I just fucking killed someone in front of my friend. She's a little freaked out and you boys, no offense, aren't helping. And I don't blame her. I'm going to give my statement to Sergeant Sullivan. It'll take five minutes, then we're leaving."

Lieutenant Burrell smiled. "I don't care how famous you are. You're in my world now, _Sergeant,_ so I expect you to play ball."

Burrell turned to Rosie. "Ma'am, I need to see your I.D." He smiled wider. " _Now_."

"You don't need to see shit, Burrell," Marcus's voice was a similar tone to what Rosie had heard just a few minutes prior when he was speaking to her attacker. "And frankly, you're starting to offend me. I suggest you get back in the APC and try to have a pleasant rest of your night."

Lieutenant Burrell just smiled and placed his hand on his sidearm while Sullivan looked on with an expression of pure shock.

"Sergeant Sullivan, place these two under arrest and get them into the APC. Maybe a day or two in lockup will smooth over this rather unpleasant attitude. Sorry your girlfriend had to get mixed up in this _Sergeant_ , but that's just what happens."

Before anyone could move or any protests were made, Marcus's pistol was in his hand and it was leveled directly at Burrell's face.

"Woah!" Sullivan exclaimed, as the Airman manning the machine gun swung the turret and pointed it at directly at Marcus. Burrell, obviously terrified, quickly raised his hands above his head.

" _Bad_ move," Marcus seethed. "I was going to give you a pass because I can tell you're a fresh butterbar Lieutenant who's just trying to throw his dick around and make a name for himself, but you just _had_ to push me."

Rosie had never seen anything like this. Nobody defied the military; not in her experience. She had researched of the time before the Fog where the human military were all about protecting and serving the common people, but after the uprisings and civil wars that look place following the Fog's invasion, a more militaristic sense of order had to be imposed for the common good of humanity. In the old world, this sort of situation was highly unlikely to happen at all. In this world, the world of the Fleet of Fog, this was the norm for humans.

She had doubted very much that Marcus would have been able to talk his way out of this, but she had calculated that it was a risk worth taking for a chance at some incredible observations. Now, she began calculating when she need to make her move and escape from here. She also noticed, now having seen Marcus aim a firearm on two different occasions at two different people that he definitely seemed trained to do so and was still effective at it even when intoxicated, evidently.

"You're going to get back in the APC," Marcus continued, "Or I'll be making a phone call to the Governor. You know, Governor Inouye, the man in charge of this fucking state?" Marcus nodded at Burrell's sudden realization. "Yeah, that's right, cocksucker. You think I live out here just for the fuck of it? I have direct permission from the _Governor of the state._ How fucked would you be if I called him to complain about a Second Lieutenant Burrell harassing me and my _friend_? Say goodbye to your career."

Marcus allowed his words to sink in. "Welcome to _my_ world, little boy. Now, get back in that fucking APC or I _promise_ that I will turn your little existence into such a shitstorm that you'll have wished I'd have just shot you."

Sighing, Marcus gestured slightly towards the APC with his raised firearm. "Now get the fuck out of my sight."

And Second Lieutenant Burrell evaporated from the area and was inside the APC at about the fastest pace Rosie had ever seen a human move.

Holstering his firearm once again, Marcus reached for and lit another cigarette before turning back to Sullivan. He laughed a little, the first time Rosie had heard him do so. "Hey Airman!" he waved at the Airman in the Humvee's gunner seat. "Thanks for not shooting me! Well, Sully, now I'm good and pissed off. How old is that fuckface Lieutenant? Twenty?"

"Nineteen," Sullivan returned the laugh nervously. "Yeah, he's a real piece of work."

"One of these new breed of officers, born and raised on this hellhole island," Marcus agreed, exhaling smoke. "Of course, that's mostly just like me, minus the officer part, but the quality of leadership around here is rapidly decreasing. If the Fog doesn't wipe us out, or if we don't wipe ourselves out first, I shudder at the thought of a military contingent run by a bunch of inbred fucks who've never even set foot anywhere else other than fucking Oahu. You better hope you don't get into a serious scrape with that douchewaffle in command, or you're _all_ fucked."

Marcus sighed again. "Anyway, let me go grab my cane."

"You sure you don't want me to do that?" Sullivan asked helpfully.

"Nah," Marcus shook his head. "I figure by the time I stagger over there and back I won't be so mad anymore. Then statement time, then home, then cold one, then bed. Fuck today. Sorry things turned so shitty, Rosie."

And with that, Marcus began moving away from them into the darkness.

The moment he was out of perceived earshot, Sullivan turned to Rosie.

"Ma'am, if you don't mind my asking, how old are you?"

"Twenty-one," Rosie replied swiftly. She had been twenty-one for nearly ten years, as that was the best age to be for general human interaction. "I'm sorry I forgot my identification, sir. I've just been having such a good time and all, other than... You know..."

"Totally understandable," Sullivan nodded. He glanced at Marcus, who was almost out of sight in the blackness (for humans, anyway). "You're in good company, so you'll be fine. Obviously. Have you known Senior Master Sergea-, I mean Marcus, long?"

"Oh, I dunno," Rosie shrugged, one of the very first communication behaviors she had learned. "A little while I guess. He's nice. I like him."

"It's good to see he's attempting to make friends... Do you know who he is?"

"Yes, of course. He's Marcus Hardy."

"Yeah, but do you know who he _is_?" Sullivan pressed, obviously confused about Rosie's lack of knowledge on the subject. "He doesn't talk about his past or his service much, so I've heard, so I didn't know if he'd told you anything."

Deciding to tell the truth on this one, because it contradicted nothing that Marcus had said, Rosie replied "No, he hasn't told me anything like that."

"Well, ask him sometime, maybe. You wouldn't think it by how he looks, or hell, even how he acts, but that man right there is the bravest man I've ever met. I served with him, once upon a time. He's a legend on this island. I'm surprised you don't know any of this."

Brave? Rosie had seen that firsthand. Or had it just been stupidity? Sometimes it was hard for Rosie to tell the difference. But she was definitely going to study further in this human's case and see if the answer would come to her.

She looked at the figure of Marcus, heading slowly back out of the blackness, leaning heavily on his reacquired cane.

Rosie made the decision right then; it didn't even need much calculation. She had to know more about this man, this human who so interested (and intimidated) other humans. Plus, if Marcus was telling the truth, he may know humans on this very island that were in places of high command. He was exactly the sort of subject she constantly craved to meet and study and this seemed like a golden opportunity for more high quality research.

"I suppose I _will_ ask him."

* * *

Author's Note:

Firstly, _big_ shoutout to Theblackbird123 for being the only (wonderful!) person to review this story so far. I adore any form of feedback I can get, whether it be a critique, or a comment on something you liked, or a hope on something you'd like to see in the future. Also, questions! If you have any questions, do feel free to ask. I don't bite and I actually tend to be pretty social.

Save Me From What I Want, by St. Vincent


	4. Moonlit

"Just follow me. Match my pace and don't look back," Marcus said, pulling out his third cigarette of the night, lighting it and taking a small amount of solace as the familiar, welcoming sensation of smoke hitting his lungs began to relax him, if only slightly.

He had just finished giving his statement to Sergeant Sullivan, a process that had only taken around five minutes (as he'd predicted), as several other Airman (including the one that had just aimed a machine gun at him) bagged the body of the scavenger and loaded it into the back the Humvee.

Rosie had, thankfully, not said much. That was the best thing she could have done, really. Marcus was glad that that much had occurred to her to do, at least.

"So, we're going to your home?" Rosie asked, looking around at all of the abandoned houses around them as she walked beside him, still wearing his sweatshirt. Even though she was much shorter than he was, she had no problem keeping up with him, given that he really had to favor leaning on his cane at the moment.

Marcus was good at hiding pain; really good. He had been dealing with chronic, debilitating pain for longer than he cared to remember, but standing around without his cane for the amount of time that he had had to really took a toll on him. He couldn't even wait to get home and sit down. Given how things had went recently and how irritated he was, he hoped a double of whiskey would be on the horizon, but, of course, his night was only just beginning. He had to figure out where Rosie lived and get her home. That meant no more drinking and, depending on where on Oahu she needed to go, it might be nearly afternoon tomorrow before he even got home again.

"Keep your voice down!" he snapped at Rosie, more rudely than he had intended. "They might still be able to hear us. I'll let you know when we can talk."

He glanced at her. If she was offended by his rudeness, she didn't show it.

It was only about a ten minute walk to get to his home, the one he had specifically picked out years prior to live in. The lights and noise of the idling vehicles and busy Airman soon left view and he considered pulling his flashlight from his belt, but the light of the moon was sufficient enough for navigation through these familiar streets that he decided he didn't need it.

He waited another couple of minutes before speaking.

"Home's only about five more minutes. We'll get there, I need to do a couple of things, but then I'll take you home."

He was about to ask where home was for Rosie, but she spoke first. "Why are you helping me?"

Marcus shrugged, a difficult gesture to make while hobbling along with a cane and juggling a cigarette at that. He took another drag.

"It's the right thing to do. Of course, you're not exactly making it _easy_ to help you."

"That's awfully kind of you."

"It's not kind of me. It's not _anything,_ really. There's a right thing and a bunch of wrong things. Always. I just try to do the right thing. Kindness has nothing to do with it."

Rosie giggled. It was a beautiful sound. "If you _say_ so!" she sang. "I just wish I could've been more helpful..."

It was Marcus's turn to laugh. "Yeah, I wish that, too."

"No need to be mean," Rosie huffed, adorning a hurt expression.

"I'm not!" Marcus retorted. "It would have just been nice if you had your shit together a little bit."

Now, Marcus was admittedly more than a little rusty when it came to communicating with and understanding women, but it seemed to him that there was a sudden, marked change in Rosie's demeanor. She started as quite and reserved but was quickly becoming more affable and well, girl-like.

Naturally, this only unsettled him even more and he began thinking with more than a little certainty that this girl was some sort of basket case.

I'm sorry," she smiled. "Give me a few minutes to clear my head and I'm sure I'll be able to sort myself out."

They were now walking along Iroquois Drive, directly parallel to the ocean, which was less than ten yards away; Marcus could hear the telltale splash and rhythm of each wave as it crashed along the beach. The moonlight reflected off the Pacific Ocean in what (even after all this time) he considered a most beautiful way. Here had been the obvious choice for when he was asked where he wanted to live. He just wished he could have appreciated it more (which were what his moonlit walks were all about) but the incredibly strange girl walking with him was definitely keeping his mind off the view.

Marcus let Rosie's last comment drop without a worded response, merely a sigh.

They walked in silence for a few moments more before she inquired "So, the Governor let you live out here? Why?"

"You mean why did he let me or why am I living here?"

"Both, I suppose."

"It's a long story."

"I have all the time in the world."

Marcus smiled a little. "Tell you what, Rosie... I don't talk much about me. I don't talk much at _all_. I don't have many guests; I'm not social. Maybe you figured that out from all of this."

He glanced over and saw Rosie blink, as she adopted an expression of confusion that was, he admitted to himself, adorable.

"So, you don't like people?" she asked.

"No, not really."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"But I like _you_. You helped me, even when you didn't _have_ to."

Marcus laughed. "Rosie, you don't know the first thing about me. I would reserve judgment. Just some advice."

Rosie giggled again. "We'll see."

Trying to ignore how cute that giggle was (and how cute her voice was in general) Marcus stated "You sure ask a lot of questions. That seems unfair to me."

"Why?"

"Because, I live here legally and everything I do is legal. I have nothing to justify to anyone. I don't know what you're doing here, or even where you came _from_. If I wasn't trying to be so nice, I'd be grilling you right now about _all_ of that."

"I'm going to tell you, I promise," she said, "But I thought it might be nice to get back to your house first. You know, sit down and relax a little. I'm still a little scared, after all..."

"And you _should_ be," Marcus exclaimed, leaning heavily on his cane with each step. "You know what that man was going to do to you, right?"

"Yes, perfectly."

"Then I'd argue you're not scared _enough_!" Marcus snapped, the level of his voice rising. "God _dammit_ , what are you _doing_ here? What would have happened if I hadn't came along?! You know how lucky you got? The _one_ fucking person who lives here, who also just happens to be armed just stumbles across you right before you have the worst and possibly last night of your _life_?"

"I..." Rosie sounded genuinely hurt. "I'm sorry..."

Marcus stopped walking, tossed his recently finished cigarette to the ground, stomped the ember out, and quickly decided not to light up another. They'd be in the house soon, anyway. He then wiped his free hand over his face in frustration.

"No... I'm sorry, Rosie," he said. "I... You just shouldn't be here."

Just what Marcus was trying so hard not to do, he was doing; he was getting mean. He didn't want to scare Rosie and didn't want to be rude to her. This sort of thing was exactly why he lived out in the middle of cordoned off nowhere. It was to remove himself from situations just like this one. As far as he was concerned, he was genuinely finished with all of this. Finished with talking, finished with socializing. Finished with people. He didn't used to be this way, but this was who he was now. He had accepted and made peace with it.

And then this girl just dropped in out of nowhere and dragged him right back into a world he thought he had left behind long ago.

"If I wasn't supposed be here, I wouldn't have met you," Rosie said softly.

Marcus laughed a little to himself; he hoped she didn't hear it. "That's... nice of you to say. I think... But I don't know if I agree."

"I don't _care_ if you agree or not. In this situation, it only matters what _I_ think." Rosie crossed her arms defiantly.

Marcus smiled, and raised both his hands (his cane still grasped in his right) in surrender. "Okay, lady, you win."

"That's absolutely right," she smirked.

"See that house up the road to the right?" Marcus, said after a couple more steps, pointing at a house up the street, sitting on the opposite side of the street as the ocean. "The one with the single small light bulb under the roof?"

Rosie's gaze followed his pointed finger. "That's your house?"

"It is."

"Yours is the only house that has power here," Rosie said, looking around as if to confirm her observation.

"Yeah," Marcus said, impressed. "Yeah, I picked where I wanted to live and they restored the power and water to the one house. Sent out CE personnel to do that and to fix the place up a bit. Helped me scour the houses nearby for furniture and any other supplies I might need. Awfully accommodating of all of them, really."

"What's CE?"

"Civil Engineering Squadron. Air Force. Great guys, most of them." Marcus began walking (more like staggering) towards his home and Rosie began moving alongside him instantly.

"The did all of that because the Governor told them to?"

"Yes. Well, no... I mean, of course I asked them myself. I know a lot of them personally and since military personnel are the only ones allowed out here, other than me, it just made sense. I mean, I didn't just ask the Governor to tell them to, or anything. And a lot of the other stuff they weren't even instructed to do; they just did to help me."

"Aren't _you_ military?" Rosie cocked her head to the side and looked up at him.

"Not anymore," Marcus muttered.

"How do you know the Governor?"

"You remember what I said about your questions being unfair?"

"I do. Do you still think that...?"

"Well, that was about three minutes ago, so what do _you_ think?"

"I don't know, that's why I asked," she sniffed.

Marcus paused, before opening the gate to his completely fenced off property and leading the way inside. "You're an odd one, aren't you?"

"I've been told things like that, yes."

They arrived at his door. There were no lights on in the house save for the single light bulb hanging on the underhand of he second story. Directly above the front door.

Marcus transferred his cane to his left hand and, for the third time that night, drew the PPK/S from its concealed holster. This was a completely automatic maneuver for Marcus and he didn't realize the implications of doing so for a few more moments. Rosie watched him do this with a flat expression.

"Oh!" Marcus exclaimed. "Don't worry! This is just the standard thing I do before going in the house. Especially at night."

"Why?" She blinked her eyes.

"Someone could be in there."

Rosie shook her head firmly. "There's no one in there."

It was Marcus's turn to blink. "Um. How could you _possibly_ know that?"

"I don't know," Rosie replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I just _do_."

For what felt like the thousandth time that night, Marcus was utterly dumbfounded. He wasn't at all used to that feeling. It wasn't the whiskey making him feel this sense of utter perplexity, because it never did. Not to mention, he was rapidly sobering up, which was definitely a good thing, as he had to drive very shortly. He had to get Rosie home and the faster he did that, the faster life could get back to normal. Marcus admitted to himself (even if a little begrudgingly) that while it was actually a little nice to be around a beautiful girl for once, he much preferred his solitude.

He thumbed back the hammer on the PPK/S. "Yeah, how about I just stick with the system I know. We've both already gotten unlucky tonight, so I'm definitely not relying on fate to see me through."

"If you must," Rosie sighed. "But I promise you there's no one in there."

"I really don't mean to be rude, but I'm not taking your word for it." Marcus sighed back. "After what just happened? Why press your luck?"

Rosie glanced down at the cocked PPK/S, as Marcus fished his house keys from one of the side thigh pockets on his gray cargo shorts and unlocked the door.

"Just stay behind me, okay?" he said.

"If you say so."

Marcus mentally sighed, as he lead the way into his home.

* * *

Author's Note:

Out to Sea, by Lera Lynn


	5. Home

Rosie had been told to wait in the first room of the house until Marcus was satisfied that, as Rosie had already informed him, the house was empty save for the two of them.

She did this willingly, but it still caused her to be a little annoyed. Being annoyed was a bittersweet feeling for Rosie. On the one hand, she appreciated that she understood its concept and that she was reacting in a way similar to that of humans when put under certain stimulus. But, on the hand, she was _annoyed_.

It took Marcus less than five minutes to check every room and check every lock on every window and door. Rosie had noted that all of the windows had bars over them and she doubted that the house had originally been built with them. The house also contained a very high tech security system, which Marcus had typed the code into a terminal shortly after entering the home, so the alarm wouldn't go off. Rosie had no idea why Marcus insisted on checking each room personally when the security system would have alerted even an incredibly unobservant human to an intruders.

Rosie took in her surroundings as quickly and thoroughly as could be expected from a quantum computer. It was a large house with two stories and lots of free, flowing space on the first floor. She noted that it was immaculately kept, by human standards, and that there was very, very little in the way of needless decoration. She also noted that none of the furniture matched, which was somewhat uncommon among the humans that she had observed.

The most glaring thing to Rosie was the fact that a single chair and table in the living room across the house were utterly smashed and lay in dozens of intermingled pieces.

From the vantage point she had, sitting in front of the locked front door, most humans might not notice that. But Rosie, of course, did. Also in the living room were shelves and shelves of books. Rosie was beginning to figure out what Marcus did with all his free time out here all by himself.

"Okay," Marcus said, trudging down from the upstairs, turning off unnecessary lights as he went. "You win this one. But you don't lose anything by checking, just to be sure."

"Except time," Rosie suggested, as she looked at him, thoroughly studying him.

Even slightly stooped over as he was, he was still tall; over six feet. And even though he insisted he was no longer in the military, his close cropped brown hair and clean shaven face implied that he was still keeping himself within the grooming standards of said military. Rosie supposed he could have been considered handsome, by human standards, but she had discovered that that was such an objective concept, that she couldn't say for certain. On thing she could tell, however, was that he seemed quite intelligent. Even though he was clearly somewhat intoxicated, he still seemed to be as alert a person as Rosie ever encountered and the fact that he had just wielded a firearm under such circumstances implied he was quite skillfully trained and coordinated, even despite his injuries.

"Yeah, well I have all the time in the world. And according to you, so do you," Marcus responded, before he pulled what looked like a passport out of his pocket and handed it to Rosie.

She opened it, revealing a photo of Marcus, his name and an address that was listed as classified.

"An official Hawaiian identification," Marcus said somewhat sarcastically, taking his I.D. right out of Rosie's hand and jamming it back into his pocket before staggering across the house to the living room, spiking his cane into the ground, sitting down heavily in a well worn recliner and reclining back.

"You _do_ have one of those, right?" Marcus asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes." Rosie didn't, but she would momentarily. She had seen more than enough of Marcus's I.D.

In a flash, she extended her left hand behind her back and, using nanomaterial from her dress, she formed an exact replica I.D. In her hand containing a picture and an address from the middle of Oahu she remembered from studying historical records of the state. She hoped that that address would not only still be there, but would be unfamiliar to Marcus, who would take it at face value. She also listed her profession as a florist, which was something she actually did for over a year in San Francisco. Rosie quite liked flowers.

"Well, now would be a great time to show me," Marcus groaned.

Rosie gracefully crossed the room to stand next to Marcus and extended her hand with her new, flawlessly replicated I.D.

Marcus opened his eyes and stared at it for a few moments, and Rosie saw a great many emotions pass over his features. She identified anger, but that one was only brief.

"Well," Marcus said slowly, after a time. "Wish you had pulled _that_ out before. I just put a gun on a Lieutenant because I didn't think you had one."

"And I really, _really_ appreciate it," Rosie replied sweetly. "I was just so scared, I wasn't thinking clearly. I get like that sometimes. When I'm scared."

"You didn't look that scared to _me_ ," Marcus eyed Rosie and her close proximity to him warily for a moment, before gesturing to a larger couch nearby, away from him. "Please. Sit down. Oh, but hand me that first."

Rosie did as she asked and handed her nanomaterial composed, fraudulent I.D. over before heading to the couch and sitting down.

"Where were you keeping this thing, anyway?" Marcus asked, glancing up before returning his attention to Rosie's forged information.

"My pocket." Rosie said. She didn't have a pocket on her nanomaterial dress, but in a quick flash (which Marcus thankfully didn't see, because it happened to be concealed under his sweatshirt that she was still wearing) she suddenly did.

"Uh uh," Marcus muttered. "Good for you... And the good news is I know where this is, roughly. I can get you there in under an hour, give or take. I have a truck. Just give me like, five minutes to rest and we'll get going. You want a glass of water, or something?"

"I want to stay here tonight," Rosie stated. If she wanted to study this human further, this route only made sense.

Marcus laughed. "Yeah. No. Not a chance."

"Why not?"

Marcus leaned forward in his recliner and met her eyes with his. "I don't know if you've paid any attention to the last hour, or to any of the weird and horrible shit that's happened, or to anything I've _told_ you, but it isn't exactly _safe_ around these parts."

"I feel safe," Rosie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, calculating what best to say. "You're here."

Marcus was aghast, Rosie could tell. "Have you _seen_ the bars on the windows?" he exclaimed.

"I have."

Marcus breathed deeply and reclined back in his chair. Rosie had seen and interacted with thousands of humans, but she had scarcely ever seen one who could calm down so quickly as Marcus seemed to be able to.

"Look," he began. "You seem like a nice girl; you really do. But I don't do guests. I'm not equipped to handle them generally, much less a girl like you. I've done what I could, I helped you out as much as I could, but now it's time to get you home." He rubbed his eyes again. "And I'd really appreciate if you stayed on the civilian side from now on. Iroquois Point and most of the island around here are off limits."

"What do you mean, 'a girl like me'?"

That caught Marcus completely off guard. "Nevermind," he said, as he slowly and painfully got out of his chair and leaned over to pick up his cane.

"Don't you want to know why I'm here?" Rosie asked. She was quickly running out of diplomacy cards to play.

Marcus leaned on his cane. "You know, I _did_. But now I don't really care. Come on, let's go. You sure you don't want some water for the drive or anything?"

"You've been drinking tonight," Rosie said flatly.

Marcus froze. "...I drink most nights. I haven't drank since way before I even ran into you. I'm fine."

"Yeah, I've heard _that_ one before," Rosie rolled her eyes, a move that she had been doing for so long, that it was almost an automatic response to such asinine statements. "I'm not getting in a car with you until tomorrow."

"God _dammit_!" Marcus snapped. "You're not safe here, don't you _get_ it? Now come on, we're going."

"No!" Rosie jumped to her feet and clinched her fists. "I feel safe _here_."

Marcus just stared, his expression reflecting his inability to comprehend why Rosie was so adamant to stay. She seemed to be winning, but perhaps it would be best to try to reassure him in some way. Then something else entirely occurred to her.

"You can't hurt me," Rosie stated.

There was a pause.

"I disagree..." Marcus finally replied, softly.

"I don't care what you think. You can't," Rosie said, taking two steps forward and looking up at him. "I promise you, you can't."

Marcus looked away, lost in thought.

"Please...?" Rosie whispered.

"Fine," he finally sniffed. "You can stay the _night_. Tomorrow I'm taking you home. You can take the bedroom upstairs. The couch is all I need."

"I wouldn't feel good taking your bed."

"I don't give a fuck," Marcus snapped quickly. "You want to stay so bad? You'll stay where I put you."

Marcus then stalked to the kitchen and after a few moments, Rosie followed.

She watched as Marcus filled two tall glasses with ice from the kitchen freezer, then filling one glass with water from a potable water container on the counter and then filling the other to the brim with Jack Daniel's whiskey from a large bottle.

"Since we won't be driving anywhere," Marcus muttered, taking a large gulp of the whiskey as he pushed the glass of water towards Rosie. "I guess I should have asked you if wanted a drink instead. You're twenty-one, right? That's what your I.D. said."

"Water's fine," Rosie affirmed, taking a small sip.

"You hungry, or anything?" Marcus asked, taking another gulp of whiskey, before refilling the glass to the brim. "I don't have anything fancy, but I've certainly got a bitchin' selection of MREs. I also make a mean peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

"No, I'm not hungry, thank you."

"Yeah," Marcus nodded. "I don't have a lot of training playing host, so you'll have to forgive that."

"That's fine," Rosie looked up at him. "I don't need a whole lot."

"Well, you're likely to get that in abundance," Marcus said. "Just remember, you _wanted_ to be here."

"I still do."

"For whatever reason..." he muttered back.

Rosie decided it was best to not reply to that one. Instead, she picked a different topic.

"Why is some of your furniture in the other room smashed?"

"Um," Marcus said, clearly embarrassed. "I didn't like it anymore. I'll replace it tomorrow."

Rosie decided not to pursue that subject any farther, either.

After a few more minutes of idle, meaningless chatter, Marcus checked his watch and asked her if she was feeling tired.

Rosie, of course, wasn't in the slightest, but she figured, with Marcus rapidly becoming more intoxicated, that she wasn't going to get any other interesting or noteworthy information out of him tonight, so she might as well pretend she was. She had plenty of other ways to gather information, even without Marcus's cooperation. She had already noticed a computer in a small office on the first floor and it was likely that it contained something she would find interesting, or was perhaps connected to a network that would.

Marcus showed her to the only bedroom in the house that had a bed, asked her one more time if she needed anything or wanted to call anyone (she didn't, on both accounts) and he bid her goodnight, hastily retreating back downstairs.

Rosie, still wearing Marcus's sweatshirt, played her part and climbed into Marcus's bed, curling up on her side in the position she had long ago discovered was most comfortable for her. She then listened as Marcus moved about downstairs for nearly fifteen minutes and left the house through the same door they had come in.

She then waited for exactly two hours to see if he would return. He didn't. Rosie increased her scanning capabilities and range until she picked up a human heat signature about twenty yards away, inside a garage and shed building that wasn't attached to the house.

Rosie glided downstairs to the front door, noting that Marcus had turned on the household security system before he left. Having already seen him use the deactivation code, Rosie didn't even have to hack the system to turn it off. She left the house and headed to the outer building, the glow of the moonlight reflecting off of the ocean and off her pale, nanomaterial created skin.

Finding that the garage was locked via a bolt lock from the inside, Rosie encased her union core (which she always had inside her mental model, refusing to keep it in her ship body) in nanomaterial to make it appear as a rock and she silently disassembled her mental model, fed the nanomaterial particles through the crack in the door and reassembled herself inside the room, minus Marcus's sweatshirt.

Then she found herself in a building large enough to hold three cars, though there was only a single red, aging pickup truck, with Marcus laying in a sleeping bag underneath it, fast asleep.

The glass he was using for whiskey was empty and sat beside the truck, though that wasn't where her attention was drawn to.

At the end of the building, in an incredibly neat stack against the wall, were several hundred empty whiskey bottles, mostly Jack Daniel's.

Checking once more on Marcus, who was still sleeping soundly, Rosie felt her gaze linger on him for a moment. Then she left the garage the way she had entered, collected her union core, put the sweatshirt back on, returned to the house and headed back to the bedroom, hacking into Marcus's computer as she went.

She curled back up in bed, just as she accessed all of the information she could've needed. It included almost the entire history of North America since before the Fog Invasion, most of which she knew, and a very detailed history on the last fifteen years of Hawaii, hardly any of which she knew.

But, what she found most important, was that in included a ton of information on Marcus.

Rosie cried for the first time about four years after forming her mental model and beginning her mission among the humans. She had reflected for a long time on what that had meant in her growing ability to feel and understand emotions. She was also amazed at her ability to empathize with the humans; her supposed enemy. Every time she cried, she was utterly fascinated that her mental model (even as anatomically accurate as it was) was able to automatically process the emotion and form tears without any direct commands from her. She supposed that was what Supreme Flagship Yamato might have meant by learning about and identifying with the humans to be become more effective fighting machines.

Even still, she didn't cry often. But Rosie cried that night.

She cried for the people of Hawaii.

She cried for Marcus.

* * *

Author's Note:

Oahu, by Menomena


	6. Forgotten

In the Summer of 2038, a recently promoted Air Force Technical Sergeant arrived at Joint Pearl Harbor-Hickam Navel and Air Force base on Oahu with his only child, an eight year old son. This Sergeant's name was Marcus Hardy, Sr., or Mark to his friends.

After his wife and mother of his son, Marcus Jr., vanished, unable or unwilling to cope with the responsibilities of having a family, Technical Sergeant Hardy was adamantly looking forward to the change of duty station to Hawaii; he needed a fresh start and he knew his son did too. While Marcus Jr. was, as per the norm with children, highly skeptical of such a a notable relocation, he had been born into the life of a military brat and had already moved on two other occasions in his young life, so Marcus Sr. knew he'd be fine.

The two were just beginning to happily settle into their new lives and routines when everything irrevocably changed.

The Fleet of Fog, as they had been named, assaulted in force in 2039, quickly, efficiently and brutally wiping out any navel, air and space units that were foolish enough to combat them, or even be in range of their weapons.

Seeing the writing on the wall, the American military desperately ordered around eight hundred thousand civilians (as many as they could) of Hawaii's nearly two million inhabitants to be evacuated to the continental United States on every free aircraft, ship and boat that could possibly be mustered. Everything from cruise ships to cargo craft to oil tankers and any private boat large enough to make the journey were all hastily requisitioned by the military in an attempt to save as many people as possible.

Technical Sergeant Marcus Hardy Sr. knew full well what was happening and had a good idea of what _would_ happen. He knew that the Fog were indiscriminately targeting anything that was seaborne or airborne over the seas and he didn't even attempt to have his son be evacuated out.

His gamble would unfortunately pay off. Of the eight hundred thousand people evacuated from the Hawaiian islands, only around a hundred and fifty thousand of them made it to the mainland. The unarmed civilian ships ran headlong into an oncoming Fog fleet and were decimated.

And with that, Hawaii and everyone left on it, became one of the most isolated and unreachable locations on Earth.

Chaos quickly reigned unchecked on the mainland United States, with mass crime and civil unrest transpiring universally.

With the President of the United States unable to deal with the chaos effectively, a rogue group of idealistic military leaders performed a coup to take control of the government and people by force, with the hope that once all was said and done, freedom could be returned. The Fog wasn't even the primary adversary by this point, having contently set up their blockade.

The new President was not elected by the people, but rather appointed by the group of military leaders. He was an Air Force four star general, The Air Force Chief of Staff, who was universally admired by his peers.

It took nearly seven years, but order was, after long last, somewhat restored. The continental United States had suffered nearly a hundred million deaths at both the hands of the Fog and from the chaos, mass starvation and lack of sufficient medical care that the country had endured in the wake of the invasion. The new President, knowing what was in the best interests for the entire continent, invited both Canada and Mexico to join the Union. Both countries, themselves similarly besieged, agreed wholeheartedly. Canada was divided into seven new states and Mexico into twenty-three. The United States senate was expanded to a hundred and sixty members and the House of Congress was increased to six hundred and ninety-five representatives to reflect the now eighty states of the United States of America.

At least, everyone liked to think there were eighty.

In truth, no word had come out of Hawaii in over six years, since the last boat that had evacuated had made it to the mainland safely.

No one knew if the one million and two hundred thousand people left on Hawaii after the evacuation had survived. No word had reached the mainland and there was no way to contact the island state.

Though Hawaii's two senators and two congressmen (in Washington D.C. at the time of the invasion) still represented their state the best they could, they didn't know if there was anyone left there _to_ represent. Hawaii become known as The Forgotten State.

Finally, after seven years and now having the resources available, the President, Congress, the Air Force and NASA put their combined efforts into the first project of its kind. Working in close unity, a new, high tech satellite was built and launched from a newly constructed NASA base in the the new State of Saskatchewan, well out of the reach of the Fog's weapons and eyes.

The satellite was designed to orbit far enough away from the Earth, where, theoretically, the Fog wouldn't be able to touch it. It was equipped with the highest degree of technological systems for observing and spying and a missile messaging system, in which a small, stealth missile could be launched containing a data core with the past seven years of American history (and whatever world knowledge America had been able to accumulate) stored on it. In practice, the missile's core database would be able to perform a parachute landing (hopefully without being destroyed by the Fog first) and, if there was anyone left on Hawaii to access it, they would know of America's continued resolve to survive and to help Hawaii.

The first images sent back from the satellite of the Hawaiian islands were shocking. Though, by all accounts the population seemed well below what all estimates suggested, there were indeed survivors there. Furthermore, and more importantly, there was no Fog presence within thousands of miles.

It was speculated that since Hawaii was utterly isolated and they had no more ways in which to even slightly threaten the Fog, the Fog grew content with just allowing them to exist in their isolated misery.

Needless to say, the missile's core landed intact dead center on Oahu, where the highest concentration of populace was observed.

The message was received loud and clear: Hawaii was no longer alone. They couldn't respond to the mainland, of course, but that didn't matter. The good news spread among the island's survivors like wildfire and there hadn't been such widespread happiness since before the invasion.

Though, what had happened on Hawaii during its seven years of darkness would shock to the very core of anyone living on the mainland.

In the first steps of the Fog invasion, right after the mass exodus of civilians, the Fog had annihilated any perceived threat on the islands of Hawaii.

On Oahu, Honolulu International Airport and Kalaeloa Airport were first to go, as they were still launching aircraft. Hickam field quickly followed.

The Fog's merciless bombardment of Kalaeloa Airport quickly spread to the nearby refinery, igniting it. The infernos of both locations rapidly spread to the towns of Kapolai and Ewa Beach, destroying most of the residential homes located at both. All surviving civilians were evacuated from them and other nearby towns, such as Iroquois Point and the entire area was cordoned off by the military, off limits to civilians.

Shortly thereafter, once all contact was lost with the mainland, society only spiraled further into oblivion.

With the military forces of Joint Pearl Harbor-Hickam and Wheeler Army Air Base, along with all Hawaiian state police, woefully outnumbered and ineffective, utter chaos expanded even faster than the wildfires of Kapolai and Ewa Beach.

Serious crimes, such as murder, reached heights of over fifty times higher than pre-invasion levels. Tragedies such as suicide (and murder suicides among families and groups) reached levels more than a hundred times higher.

All forces of order, military and police, along with their families and dependents, quickly discovered how ill-equipped they were to combat such overwhelming discord and they barricaded themselves into the two military bases in order to hole up and survive.

Rogue militias formed and civilians were murdered over things that had once been trivial, such as food and shelter. Food and territory became the only currency that mattered. After the first year, when food began running low, cannibalism became widespread.

And with all sources of order holed up in the two impenetrable military bases, utterly incapable of helping, military and government personal looked on in horror.

The Governor of the state, a Hawaiian native named David Inouye who had only been elected to office a little over a year before the Fog invasion, watched helplessly as his state, his _home_ , tore itself to shreds around him. Given that no word from the mainland had come and it was assumed it wasn't likely _to_ come, Inouye made a decision: They were on their own and they had to resolve it all on their own.

In complete cooperation with the remaining military leaders, General Inouye decided that enough was enough and, even at great odds, the government could no longer stand by and do nothing. Organized strikes were made on the lawless, roving gangs. Honolulu (which thankfully hadn't caught fire and burned to the ground) was retaken in the first year of determined combat and became a sanctuary to all of those willing to obey the military. Order only spread from there.

On the tip of this spear was now Master Sergeant Mark Hardy Sr.

The Air Force Security Forces Squadron, of which he quickly became a leader, was one of the first fighting units to be sent on any engagement and he quickly made a name for himself as an effective and honorable Airman and leader.

This all meant little to him; the only thing that mattered to him was his son Marcus Jr., now ten years old. If Master Sergeant Hardy had to personally kill every lawless heathen on the island of Oahu to ensure his son would be safe, he would do so gladly.

After two years of restoring order on Oahu, contact was made with all of the other inhabited islands of Hawaii. As it turned out, the Fleet of Fog was either unaware or utterly indifferent to the small sea craft moving back and forth between the islands. It was speculated the Fog genuinely didn't care what the survivors did, as long as they didn't stray too far from the islands. The survivors had no more significant military force and they were trapped on the islands. What difference would it make to the Fog what any human did on the isolated wasteland of Hawaii?

It took yet another year for order to begin to settle statewide. Oahu was, as it always had been, the largest population center. Every square inch of viable territory on it and (more importantly) the other islands became farmland, with the island of Hawaii being the largest, most important source for food.

Every remaining boat, no matter how small, that was left intact, or could be salvaged or could be constructed become a priceless commodity, closely governed by the military. They were invaluable and necessary to transport goods from one island to the next. A small fishing industry even sprang up.

There was soon enough food for everyone, if only barely.

After the fourth year in 2043, an emergency vote was taken by the people that ensured David Inouye, after his outstanding leadership through one of the greatest humanitarian crises in the history of the world, would be given the position of Governor for life. Nobody complained; it just made sense.

In conjunction with this voting process, a census was taken with the objective of ascertaining the exact remaining population of Hawaii. The results would be horrific.

The population sat at around two hundred and eighty thousand people. Nearly a million people had died on the Hawaiian islands in the four years since the Fog invasion and the majority of those weren't even due to direct actions of the Fog. There was so much death, that the stench of decay that had permeated Oahu for several years was only just beginning to fade, if not from the collective memory.

Governor Inouye and the military leaders resolved to never allow order to be lost again. In order for this be be plausible, a stringent militaristic system had to be established. There was no longer any such thing as currency. People were assigned jobs and tasks ideally lining up with with the professions from their previous lives and the only thing that was asked of them, in order for them to receive their rations, was for them to work.

Five years after the invasion, David Inouye made an announcement to the island: Order had finally been restored. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't even completely ideal, but it was the best situation the state of Hawaii was ever likely to be in.

Though, like in every case involving humanity, there were those who were discontented with the new status quo and those who hadn't forgiven the military or government for their unavoidable year of absence.

Generally, though, a great feeling of proud unity spread among most of the inhabitants. Though things had to be done with a militaristic sense of order and precision, the vast majority of people understood why this had to be so, and it became increasingly rare that the military had to respond to any sort of unrest with an iron fist.

Knowing full well, that the military was suffering manning issues, now Senior Master Sergeant Mark Hardy began training Marcus Jr. on how to be an Airman. He knew, one day, the military would have to begin adding new personnel and he wanted his son to be among them. Being in the military was the easiest way to continue being fed and it was also the most effective way to make a difference. The former is what Mark wanted. The latter was what Marcus Jr. wanted.

So, for the next two years, Mark trained his son in the art of war.

Though life had gotten infinitely better in the years following the invasion and The Crisis (as it became to be known among the islanders) things like murder, suicide and death due to lack of sufficient medical care remained at levels that wouldn't have ever been conceivable in a pre-Fog world. Despite this, due to a general lack of resources, increases in population, newborns, had to be closely monitored and controlled and couples were only allowed to have a single child. Even if the population was only decreasing, the lack of resources made _any_ increase in populace utterly unfeasible.

And, of course, there were always those that remained so unhappy to be under a military rule and those who so much wanted to remain as lawless savages, that a small rogue group, composed of people who fit the mold of the utterly detestable and uncivilized began to form...

Seven years after the Fleet of Fog invaded, in 2046, the absolute unthinkable happened: A parachute landed on Oahu containing a data core of everything that had transpired on the continental United States since the Fog invasion began.

It was the happiest moment the state of Hawaii had experienced in longer than anyone cared to remember.

In the data core, instructions and authorizations directly from the President and the Joint Chiefs of Staff were given on how best to continue to govern the people and form the most efficient society and military, but of course, after years of trying to figure out and implement those very concepts, Hawaii was already well ahead of Washington D.C.'s instructions.

The part of all of this that most concerned recently promoted Chief Master Sergeant Mark Hardy, now one of the highest ranking and most respected non-commissioned military individuals on the islands, was the fact that it included authorizations on how to increase the size of the military.

The rules, like many rules of the pre-Fog world, had changed.

Boys and girls as young as fifteen could be selected for military service, hopefully as volunteers but also as draftees if necessary. Given the high demand of people on Hawaii who were eager to serve for all of the benefits involved, it didn't look like a draft would ever be necessary.

Marcus Hardy Jr., given that he had lived his whole life as part of the military establishment and had been trained and conditioned for years by his father, was a natural to be selected among the first group of Air Force trainees, graduating with the highest honors in his class after the two months of training. His father had wanted him to join the officer program, but Marcus Jr. couldn't be swayed. He wanted to be just like his father, after all.

Eight months after contact from the mainland reached Hawaii, the first Single Step To Orbit, or SSTO (piloted by an Air Force officer and a Navy officer and containing a dozen highly trained military medical personnel, all volunteers) touched down at Wheeler Airfield, the only remaining runway on Oahu. It contained nearly a hundred tons of food medical supplies and other assorted commodities.

This was, obviously, a major turning point.

In early 2047, more SSTOs began landing on Oahu; fifteen of them a year at entirely irregular intervals (in an attempt to throw off the Fog predicting when they would be; an added precaution). Everything that the United States could think to send, they did. Food, medical supplies, construction supplies, fuel, munitions, additional trucks and Humvees, even helicopters. Anything that Washington D.C. could think to throw at the besieged islands, they did so gladly. Even more stunning, was the shear amount of pilots, doctors, engineers, and other survival specialists who volunteered for the one way trip to Hawaii on the SSTOs to help their fellow countrymen.

The Fleet of Fog, once again, was either unaware of these SSTO missions, or they simply didn't care. It affected nothing of their stranglehold over Hawaii and so, whatever the case, not a single SSTO sent to Oahu was ever shot down, though this didn't prevent the United States from maintaining its random flight policy.

It seemed after the first few months of consistent SSTO deliveries that law and order on the Hawaiian islands would continue entirely unfettered.

That, unfortunately, just wasn't to be the case. As long as there is more than one human, there will be conflict among humans.

In 2050, Senior Airman Marcus Hardy, Jr., after only three years of immaculate service at age twenty, was quickly building a reputation worthy of his family. He was an exceptional marksman and was designated a scout sniper and was already in line to promote to Staff Sergeant and was working in the Security Forces unit directly under his father's command (which wasn't a coincidence) when the first strike by a radical guerrilla group, proudly calling themselves The Fifth Column, targeted and destroyed a small convoy of small arms supplies before they could reach their intended destination: Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam.

That began a year long, incredibly bloody conflict between the organized military and government of Hawaii, and the rebel forces of The Fifth Column.

Much like his father before him, Marcus Hardy, Jr. distinguished himself in battle. His reputation for combat prowess, honorable conduct and (most importantly to him) his passion to protect and defend the citizens of Hawaii at any cost coupled with his father's already formidable career to form a legacy that quickly became familiar all over Hawaii. Of course, the military willingly played up the Hardys' fame, as it was the fuel of good propaganda for both the island's military and civilians. Everyone loves heroes.

The reorganized and sufficiently supplied armed forces of Hawaii made quick work of The Fifth Column over the course of the year, but it wasn't exactly easy. Both Marcus and his father were at the front lines of every major offensive and most defensive engagements. Though both could have stayed behind the lines, had they so chose, that option was unacceptable to either of them. The only way for Hawaii to ever know peace was for good men, men like the Hardys, who where in a place where they could to do something about it, to give it their all to make it happen. They both knew this. And even though Marcus Jr. was the first to volunteer for every dangerous mission, his father, while terribly worried about him, would let him go with no complaint and no pulling of rank to prevent him from doing so. Soon after the major fighting began, Marcus was meritoriously promoted for combat heroism to Technical Sergeant. And despite being wounded on numerous occasions, Marcus Jr. _always_ returned to the fight.

The Fifth Column knew its time was coming to an end. They mustered all of their forces in what would be a final all or nothing strike at the heart of the military. If they won, they might be able to destabilize the Hawaiian government, or at the very least, live to fight another day. If they lost, their force would likely collapse and the movement would be at an end.

In early 2051, they struck in full force at the city of Honolulu and Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam. It was estimated that three thousand Fifth Column guerrillas met a defense force of four thousand Airman and Marines.

Both Hardys were, of course, at the very front of the lines.

Chief Master Sergeant Marcus Hardy, Sr. was killed in action that day, but not before giving a key command that saved hundreds of lives. His son, carrying out one of his commands, personally saved a dozen more men, but was grievously wounded in the process.

The coordinated military defense held and shortly thereafter, after a series of effective counterattacks, what was left of The Fifth Column collapsed into dust and faded into history.

Ultimately, in a display meant just as much for the people as it was for them, both Hardys were awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor by Governor Inouye (who was given Presidential power by necessity of the situation) and Marcus spent nearly a year recovering from his injuries, many of which could not be adequately treated due to lack of medical technology and resources. He received another meritorious promotion to Master Sergeant, before realizing what was staring him in the face and opting out and being honorably discharged from the Air Force due to his injuries. He received a final, honorable promotion to Senior Master Sergeant as a credit for his selfless, exceptional service to the state of Hawaii.

Over the the next three years following the end of The Fifth Column, with peace finally firmly in place on Hawaii, the story of the Hardy family would pass into legend among the civilians of the island. No one really knew what happened to Marcus Hardy, Jr. Some said he died of his injuries and it wasn't announced in an effort to keep moral across the state up. Others said he never left Pearl Harbor-Hickam and continued working in military affairs, despite his injuries. Some even said he stepped into the Pacific to fight the only enemy left: The Fog.

In truth, only those in the military who had worked with and known him, the Governor of the state and a select few government personnel knew for a fact that Senior Master Sergeant Marcus Hardy, Jr. was alive and even fewer still knew where to find him.

And then one night a mental model of the Fog did just that, by pure dumb luck. This would change both of them forever.

Even stranger still, that same night, across the Pacific Ocean in a town in Japan, a young naval student would also meet a mental model of the Fog.

This startling, incalculably improbable coincidence wouldn't be fully realized by anyone for a long time yet, but that night would ultimately prove to be the genesis of one of the most important series of events in the history of the human race.

* * *

Author's Note:

God Moving Over the Face of the Waters, by Moby


	7. Cora

"Just _what_ are we going to do about you, Coral Sea?"

Two young women sat in an open plains stretching as far as the eye could see with the sun shining brightly down on them. The chirping of birds and the buzzing of small insects added a pleasant feeling to the area, though this was completely lost on one of the women.

The one that had spoken was a tan skinned Native American women around twenty with long, straight ebony hair and dark eyes who wore bearskin wrapped around her as if it were freezing cold.

The second women, a short brunette haired girl appearing in her late teens, wore an elegant black dress with white trim that appeared to be something straight out of late 1800s New York City. Her hair was artfully composed in a series of ringlets that cascaded down below her shoulders. She had sharp features and possessed an expression of barely contained agitation.

Gritting her teeth, the girl in the dress responded "Cora. Call me Cora."

"I am your flagship and I shall refer to you as your ship designation, thank you," the other women responded.

"Very well, _Missouri_ ," Cora responded, barely able to contain her irritation. "Just _why_ have you summoned me here?"

"I would mind your tone, if I were you. And you _know_ why," Missouri responded. "Lexington is rather upset at you entering her territory without permission from, well... _anyone_."

"I detected an anomaly and wanted to investigate it immediately," Cora began to explain herself.

Missouri shook her head once. "No. That's not how things work. If you detect something that may demand attention, you notify _me_ and _I_ notify whomever needs to be concerned, in this case Lexington. You don't break formation and just do whatever you please."

Cora gritted her teeth even harder.

"Furthermore," Missouri continued. "I would have thought you would have learned your lesson about doing these sorts of things by now. The Supreme Flagship has already had to intervene personally and pass fleet command from you to me because of behavior just like this."

"You don't need to remind me!" Cora snapped. "I know what happened!"

"Oh, but I feel I _do_ need to remind you," Missouri leveled her gaze directly at Cora. "I'm testing to see if you have any sense of shame. If you do, you might demonstrate changes in this unfortunate pattern of behavior."

"But, I-"

"Must I notify the Supreme Flagship...?" Missouri cocked her head to one side.

That shut Cora up.

"No, fleet flagship... That won't be necessary..." she finally said, looking at the ground.

"Good," Missouri smiled. "I was hoping to settle this 'in house', as the humans say."

"May I go?" Cora asked.

"You may not," Missouri's smile disappeared completely. "You will, of course, be punished for this infraction. You will sail to the islands of Hawaii and begin a series of patrols immediately. I will send you your exact instructions."

"Fleet flagship!" Cora exclaimed. "There's nothing happening there! There's _never_ anything happening there! Those pathetic humans are dying off and nothing there concerns us or the Admiralty Code's orders!"

"Do not test me, or I'll add another few months of patrols around Midway," Missouri warned, her voice hardening. "I'm surprised you mention the Admiralty Code as some sort of defense, given your consistent inclination to violate it. You will do as I have ordered or I will turn this matter over to the Supreme Flagship and trust her better judgment to figure out what to do about you. If you think I am too embarrassed or prideful to admit to the Supreme Flagship when I can't control one of the ships under my command, then you are sorely, _dramatically_ mistaken."

Missouri cocked her head again. "Do you know _why_ that is, Coral Sea?"

Cora didn't answer, calculating this was what the humans referred to as a rhetorical question.

"That's because it's part of the Admiralty Code's instruction," Missouri stated. "If I can't enforce its orders, then my duty is to route the matter to a higher party who _can_."

Letting her words sink in for a few moments, Missouri said "Begin your new assignment immediately. Texas will assume your former route and responsibilities. Dismissed."

And with that, Cora was forcibly disconnected from the Second North American Patrol Fleet's Joint Tactical Network.

* * *

Back on her ship body, Cora kicked the side of the large commander tower repeatedly, until the nanomaterial composing her shoe, her foot _and_ the bulkhead she was kicking began to disintegrate.

She shouted obscenities that even a human sailor would cringe out, until, after a while, she calmed down and repaired the damage she had just inflicted to herself. As it turned out, the series of patrols were just circling the Hawaiian islands for six months. It would be absolutely, dreadfully boring. And, to add insult to injury, it was the sort of work that was far below even the smallest Fog destroyer. Even Fog ships that couldn't support mental models wouldn't be sent on missions so pointless!

"Fine," Cora finally said to herself. "If this keeps Yamato off my back, I'll do it."

And with that, Fleet of Fog Assault and Suppression vessel Coral Sea began her journey to the islands of Hawaii.

* * *

She had been cruising at max speed for nearly a week when Cora detected something out of the ordinary. She was incredibly thankful for this because she had become so _bored_.

It was only a flash, a quick blip on her radar, but it was definitely there.

Cora surrounded her mental model with the white rings of light that displayed all the information she would need as she tried to figure out what she had just scanned. It was an American SSTO, she realized with a start. She knew that the American SSTOs were equipped with stealth capabilities, which made it very difficult for even the Fog to spot them, but like everything human hands built there were flaws.

Briefly calculating if she should report this to Missouri, Cora ultimately decided against it. She was nearly a week away from the coastline of North America, far outside any Fog fleet patrol zones. No, this was something she could deal with just fine all by herself. Cora grinned at the thought. She hadn't had the chance to engage a single human target since recently forming her mental model and she had been hoping that the time would come soon. It seemed as if now would be that moment.

There was a second quick blip on radar and Cora calculated where her target was. She groaned a little to herself, as it was far enough away where conventional lasers and warheads would likely prove ineffective, not to mention the tracking capabilities on said warheads wouldn't be able to pick up and track the stealth craft, anyway.

No, she would have to go all out on this one.

Cora smiled wickedly. She hadn't had a single opportunity to use her Super Graviton Cannon since the great navel victory over the humans in 2039. And all by her lonesome all the way out here? No one could tell her _not_ to.

The enormous deck of her ship body split and began forming the huge cannon. She would only get a single shot at the SSTO. At the rate it appeared to be moving, it would be out of range soon and her cannon wouldn't have nearly enough time to recharge for a followup shot.

She charged her cannon, the black and red energy patterns crackled the air around her and created the ozone smell she loved so much; it was the smell of her energy weapons and to her, it reflected pure power. She herself was a weapon, after all, and any chance she had to be one in practice was overjoying.

The radar chirped again and she made a quick calculation and fired, grinning ear to ear as the deafening cacophony of the unleashed Super Graviton Cannon filled the world around her in a way no other weapon could.

She felt and relished the cracking of the electricity as it danced around her hair and dress and caused a wonderful sensation on her mental model's skin.

Somehow she knew, she just _knew_ , that she had hit her mark and had completely obliterated it. Cora took complete joy in being the harbinger of such an act.

Cora felt a laugh escape her replicated lungs; she couldn't help it. The fact that she was operating well within the guidelines of the Admiralty Code only made her all the more deliriously happy.

Sometimes she could be exactly what she was and be completely and totally justified doing so. It was the best feeling that Cora had ever known.

She studied the small, quickly dying fireball of the SSTO way off in the distance with immense satisfaction and she dearly hoped that the humans would send more. She would gladly destroy anything in her path that violated the Admiralty Code. She had six months to kill in one of the most boring places in the world for a ship of the Fog, after all, so having viable targets was about the best thing she could hope to look forward to.

Cora altered her gaze towards the Hawaiian islands, less than two days travel away and once again a grin found its way to her features.

Whatever those pathetic, destitute humans were up to, they weren't at all prepared for Coral Sea.

* * *

Author's Note:

Firstly, thank you all for the reviews! The feedback I'm getting is proving most helpful. Big thanks to Theblackbird123, Dunov, Thuzan117 and andrewopk for your continued support!

To Thuzan117: The reason I have the soundtrack listings at the bottom is it had never occurred to me that people would listen to the music as they read. I wasn't, in many cases, lining up songs with chapters that thematically fit together. It was more just a collection of songs that helped inspire the story and songs I've been listening to as I write. I _did_ consider moving them all to the top after your suggestion, but I'm going to leave them where they are. If you'd like to listen to them as you read, go for it! But since each song doesn't perfectly line up thematically with each chapter and I don't consider it _integral_ to the reading experience, I'm just going to leave them at the end. It was a good suggestion, though!

Finally, I'm incredibly happy about the positive feedback of the word I'm trying to create (while remaining as faithful as possible to the original manga), though, again, it's going to be primarily seen through the eyes of my two leads. It's a large scale story told on a small scale, if that makes sense. Though, I can absolutely promise large naval battles and action at some point down the line (which is certainly in the plot) what fascinates me the most is the dynamic between Marcus and Rosie, who are literally the main inspiration I have for writing this. So, of course, their story is most important to me. Hope people don't terribly mind small character dramas...  
Thanks again everyone and hope you all continue enjoying the story!

Tropics (Erase Traces), by My Morning Jacket


	8. Visit

It didn't matter in the slightest that he was under his truck and couldn't see the light of the new day. It also didn't matter that he slept in a sleeping bag on a concrete surface, or that he had been incredibly drunk the night before.

None of that mattered. Marcus was still awake and coherent at seven in the morning.

Of course, he had that fleeting split second of a moment where he didn't realize where he was and why he wasn't in his bed.

Then, of course, in a flash it all came back to him: The fact that he'd killed yet another person the night before and had somehow assumed the responsibility of a strange young women in the process who was now, very likely at that moment, sleeping in his bed.

Of course. She was the whole reason he was out here, under his truck.

Reflecting on his dreamless night of sleep, he was thankful that that he had avoided the nightmares, or suddenly launching himself awake. Of course, the whiskey usually helped with that and he had made sure to consume enough of it to to mitigate those unfortunate, all too familiar situations.

Marcus breathed in deeply and exhaled. Another day to begin.

In a few moments he had his sleeping bag rolled up and stored on a shelf and he quickly looked around to make sure nothing else in the building required his attention.

Nothing did. It was just as organized as he always left it.

And with that, Marcus left the garage, locked it from the outside and began his daily inspection of his property to make sure nothing was amiss.

Given that he had slept in a sleeping bag in his garage under his truck, Marcus was still wearing his clothes from the night before, minus his sweatshirt which he didn't feel the need to ask for back from Rosie the previous night. It looked like she had needed it and hey, it was a pretty warm sleeping bag.

He also still wore his PPK/S in his hip holster inside his shorts. He flipped the button catch off of said holster in case he needed to draw the weapon quickly during his inspection.

Pausing for a moment and balancing his cane against his leg, Marcus lit a cigarette and took a deep breath of smoke in, his first hit of the new day.

The sun was beginning to get a firm foothold in the sky; it looked like it was to be another beautiful day on the hellhole of Oahu.

Everything was looking copacetic around his property. The tall wood fence completely surrounding it was entirely intact and the garage and second, smaller shed yielded no signs of attempted break in or damage. The house also looked entirely untouched.

Marcus then proceeded inside and crept upstairs to check on Rosie. She was still fast asleep, curled up on her side facing away from him with the comforter wrapped about her head and her hair draped unevenly over her face and the sheets.

He then returned downstairs and quietly cleaned up the pieces of broken furniture that Rosie had unfortunately noticed the night before, bagging all of the debris in several, industrial size garbage bags. How could he have known he'd have a guest? Of course, the _one_ time he ever left his house in disarray was the time he had someone over. He dearly hoped that she had bought his (admittedly weak) story on how the furniture had ended up in shards.

Marcus then, after dropping the bags next to the garage, proceeded to the porch and lit up another cigarette, trying to have a nice five minute break before he would go inside and figure out what else constructive he could do to occupy his time until Rosie woke up.

He had just launched the recently finished cigarette into the pot he had sitting on the deck for that very purpose, when the sound of vehicles floated to him.

Reflexively, he drew his PPK/S, thumbed back the hammer and mentally calculated how quickly he could get to the nearest larger firearm he had stored in the house ( an old Mossberg 500 .12 gauge shotgun hidden under his living room couch) but quickly realized that that move likely wouldn't be necessary.

It sounded like three or four vehicles, as they pulled up in front of the gate and Marcus could see the top of an APC over the fence.

Unless this was a very well equipped and very well coordinated group of scavengers, this had to be a small Air Force convoy.

His bimonthly supply delivery wasn't for another four days, so this was seemingly the rare, highly unexpected visit of someone else.

He heard footsteps over the idling vehicles and braced himself. If he was wrong, he was probably about to get into a shootout.

He dearly hoped he wasn't wrong.

The gate swung open and a fully armored and helmeted Master Sergeant carrying an assault rifle stepped in, noticed Marcus, and instantly snapped the rifle up at him.

Marcus grinned widely and threw his hands (his right carrying the PPK/S and his left the cane) as far out to his sides as he could. If he was going to be shot accidentally, he might as well have some good humor about it.

The Master Sergeant realized his mistake and quickly rerouted the barrel of his rifle towards the dirt.

"God _dammit_ , Marcus!" he snapped.

"And a good morning to you, Master Sergeant Mills!" Marcus said, lowing both his weapon and his cane and leaning on the latter. "Didn't expect you and the boys for another few days. How may I help you?"

His first thought was that this was some sort of inquest into the shooting of the scavenger last night and that Marcus might be brought in for questioning. Did they really care about another dead scavenger who was obviously a scum of a human being? Was it possible that Lieutenant Burrell had filed a complaint about his humiliating experience with Marcus? Would anyone even care if he had?

Then, another, far more terrifying thought occurred to him. What if they were here for Rosie? Could she have done something that made her a wanted person of interest for the military? What could a girl like that have possibly done?

Thankfully, none of these possible options proved to be the case.

Filing through the gate right behind Master Sergeant Mills was a sharp looking man dressed smartly in a dark suit who wore a bullet proof vest and helmet. The man carried a carton of Marcus's favorite cigarettes in one hand and a large bottle of Jack Daniel's Single Barrel in the other.

Oh, it was one of _those_ visits. That was _much_ better than any of the alternatives.

Marcus smiled warmly; genuinely. "Good morning, Governor. Please come in."

* * *

Five minutes later, the pair sat across from each other in Marcus's living room. Marcus in his recliner, sitting up straight and Governor Inouye on the couch. Inouye had removed both the vest and the helmet and they were neatly stacked next to him.

The dozen or so escorting Airman had taken up a perimeter around the property, leaving the Governor to speak privately with Marcus.

Governor David Inouye was a man in his late fifties, though he looked over a decade older. His hair was white and he had perpetual bags under his eyes that made him look far more tired than he ever seemed to be.

Leading Hawaii over the past fifteen years had seemingly added nearly forty years to the man, who had looked far younger than his age when he had assumed office.

The Governor smiled warmly. "Well, I'd have called ahead, but your phone's never on... How've you been Marcus? I heard you had some more problems last night."

Marcus returned the smile and shrugged. "It was only the one problem and only for about a minute."

Inouye's smile vanished and he adopted a look of fatherly concern. It only served to make him appear even older and more exhausted.

"How many people have you killed out here, now? Six?"

"Eight," Marcus replied instantly. "The four that tried to break in here last year and four others who tried to jump me or someone I know."

"Yes, I remember the break in," Inouye sighed. "I'm glad all the damage was repaired. And they added the bars to the windows to keep it from happening again."

"And the security system," Marcus added. "It's my fault, really. Should have predicted such an eventuality and had those installed in the first place."

Inouye nodded grimly. "I heard all about last night. Figured the least I could do was visit to see if you were doing all right."

"I usually am," Marcus shrugged again.

"I also heard you had a friend over. A pretty girl, if the rumors are to be believed."

"Yes, Rosie," Marcus confirmed. "I think she's pretty enough, anyway."

"I'm glad you found a friend," Inouye smiled a little. "She still here?"

"Asleep upstairs," Marcus confirmed, seeing no reason to lie. It seemed that the story he had woven from thin air the night before had stuck, thankfully.

"How'd you meet her?"

Marcus laughed. "I _do_ leave Iroquois Point every now and again, Governor. Don't look so surprised."

"Good," Inouye nodded, smiling, before changing the subject. "It's good to know you're doing well. My wife asks about you all the time. You know how she is. She worries."

"Apparently a lot of people do. I don't know how many times I have to tell General Carter that I'm doing just fine," Marcus said, thinking of the numerous times the General had sent out a patrol just to make contact with him, have an Airman hand him a phone and tell him the General wanted to speak to him.

"How _is_ Rachel, anyway?" Marcus asked.

"She's doing well. Says I work too hard."

"Well, if you didn't, I imagine there'd be a fair to good chance that Oahu would flip over and capsize."

Inouye laughed. "Perhaps nothing so dramatic."

"With respect, Governor," Marcus began, leaning forward. "I know you're not here just to check in and bring me gifts. Though I _do_ appreciate those, by the way."

Inouye waved his hand, dismissively. "Don't even worry about it. The only reason I had either is because I requested them long ago thinking you might just stop by once in a while to visit. Rachel always tells me she hopes you would."

"Well please do give Rachel my regards," Marcus nodded. "Now, Governor, how may _I_ help you?"

Inouye sighed. "In light of what happened last night, both myself and General Carter are hoping you'll reconsider your stance on living here and return to Honolulu or Pearl Harbor-Hickam. We can set you up just about anywhere you want and can guarantee your safety. We even have room for you in the Governor's mansion, if you'd like. I know Rachel would be thrilled to have you."

Marcus didn't even need to think about it. "No, Governor. Nothing's changed in the nearly three years I've been out here. If I have to defend myself once or twice a year, that's acceptable to me."

Inouye didn't look surprised in the slightest. "No," he said. "I thought not... Would you consider having an armed contingent stationed here? It would only be four to six Airman and General Carter assures me she would have no issue finding volunteers."

"No, sir," Marcus said firmly. "This is exactly where I want to live and I don't need any babysitters."

"With the threat of armed attackers right outside your door?" Inouye pressed.

"Yes sir."

"I often regret authorizing you to live out here-"

"Governor," Marcus cut him off. "Do you know how many people I've killed?"

Inouye thought for a moment, before wordlessly shaking his head.

"Seventy-four. Including last night. Confirmed. Another dozen or so that I _can't_ confirm. Here's where I belong, sir. I don't know how much time I have left, but I fully intend on spending it right here."

Governor Inouye didn't even blink. Marcus could tell that he had known the answer to all of his requests before he had even made them.

"There's always room for you back in the Air Force," Inouye stated, changing tactics.

Marcus didn't mean any disrespect, but he still laughed all the same. "I'm in no shape for military service, sir. Those days are _long_ over."

"You're a natural leader, Marcus. Just like your father was. You could be put in a position of command only; not combat. Given a promotion to Chief, as well. You are universally respected in the service."

"My father was a Chief," Marcus replied. "He deserved it. I don't. Thank you, but no."

Inouye went silent again for a few moments and it occurred to Marcus that there seemed to be something else on the man's mind, perhaps something of even more importance.

"Is there something I need to know, sir...?" Marcus asked.

Inouye glanced up, towards the ceiling and Marcus instantly knew what he meant. "She's asleep, sir. Even if she wasn't, it's unlikely she could hear us from there."

Remaining silent for a few moments more, as if deep in thought, Inouye then sighed. "Officially, we have no direct contact with the continental United States. We can keep updated on anything that happens there because of the SSTOs and the personnel they bring from the mainland. But the only way that we can relay anything _to_ the continent is via what they can see from the satellite."

Marcus nodded. "As has been the case for nearly a decade. And thank Christ for those SSTOs, or I don't know _how_ I'd get my drink on."

"Well, that's... not exactly true," Inouye stated.

Marcus's eyes narrowed slightly. "Sir...?"

"For the past two years," Inouye began, "The United States has been testing a new stealth submarine that can pass right by the Fog without them knowing. There are four of them, currently, and each has made the trip to here and back safely three times."

"Testing," Marcus said, dumbfounded.

"That's correct. The testing phase has been completed and now the submarines are ready for their primary mission."

Inouye smiled. "In a month and a half, we can begin evacuating Hawaii from locations in Pearl Harbor. Civilians first, obviously. Each submarine can hold a thousand passengers and each one can make a trip every four weeks."

"Four thousand people a month," Marcus stated, awed.

Inouye nodded. "And that's just the _beginning_. They have ten more being built. All of those should be ready in the next eighteen months, including the testing process."

Inouye paused, smiling, to let that sink in. "In less than three years we can have everyone, _everyone_ , out of Hawaii. And the President of the United States has ordered that _you_ be on the first trip back. Naturally, we all hoped you would relocate to somewhere safer for your last few weeks here, but I suppose that's fine."

It wasn't often that Marcus was speechless, but here was one of those occasions. It took him nearly ten seconds to summon a response.

"That's absolutely _incredible_ , Governor," Marcus smiled. "But, as I've told you before, and as I would gladly tell the President myself, I'm not going anywhere."

"Did you not hear what-"

"I certainly did, sir. My guess is the President gave the same order to _you_... Am I right?"

Inouye blinked. "Yes, you are. And I relayed to the President that I wouldn't leave until everyone else already had. I'll be on the last boat out."

"I'm surprised you'd even leave at all!" Marcus smiled.

"Hawaii _is_ my home," Inouye said. "Of course it is. And maybe someday, I'll be able to return. But my duty is to the _people_ right now, not the place. I intend to see everyone to our new, hopefully temporary home with the promise that we'll someday be able to come back."

"We'll have to wipe the Fog from the face of the Earth first."

"Yes. And to hear the President speak, one would think that isn't too far out of the realm of possibility for the future."

Marcus smiled again and leaned back. "Well, when that happens, I'll be right here waiting with a drink for you."

This was the first moment that Inouye had genuinely looked upset. "I can _order_ you to be put on that submarine, you know... Do you think this is what your father would have wanted?"

Marcus's expression hardened a little. "It doesn't matter what he _would_ have wanted. He's gone. I'm all that's left of him."

"They found your grandfather's house," Inouye said calmly.

Marcus's eyes widened. "What...?"

Inouye smiled again. "Yes. A few years back, using the information I remember your father mentioning to me. It's intact. Right outside of Lewis-McChord in Washington state... There's a small group of single Airman who've been assigned to live there to keep the place in perfect condition... That house... _That's_ where you belong, Marcus. _That's_ your home. I know that for a fact; your father told me as much. He said he wanted to pass the house to you and he wanted you to raise your own family there, in time. That was long before you enlisted, of course, but that's what he told me."

Marcus looked away for a moment, weighing his options, then he decided what to say.

"I'll tell you what, Governor... If it comes a time when those stealth submarines _do_ work and everyone else has been pulled off these godforsaken islands safely... well, I'll be on the last boat. With you."

It only took a moment before Inouye grinned, leaned forward and offered his hand. Ever the politician.

"You have a deal, Marcus. I wish you would reconsider your housing arrangement, but I do understand your reasons."

Marcus leaned forward as well and accepted Inouye's hand, shaking it firmly. "Thank you, Governor... I was wondering if all of the seats on the first submarine have been taken?"

"No. We haven't even begun the selection process. That's slated to begin a week from tomorrow."

"Would it be possible... to ask you..." Marcus trailed off, struggling to voice his request.

"...To have seats assigned to people you know?" Inouye finished for him. "Absolutely. If I can't get _you_ in a seat then I can certainly take your requests. Again, we're trying to evacuate civilians first."

"That's fine. And there should only be ten seats needed, maybe a dozen," Marcus said.

"Of course. Who?" Inouye asked.

"Elizabeth Sprague and her immediate family."

Inouye nodded knowingly. "Your former fiance."

"And her husband, daughter and both of their families. Parents and such. Shouldn't be more than a dozen people, if I remember correctly."

"I promise you, it'll get done," Inouye swore. "Is there anyone else?"

Marcus instantly thought of Rosie. "I'm not sure yet, sir. I'll get back to you in the next two or three days... And you have assurances that these submarines are safe? That they can truly get by the Fog undetected?"

"Take all the time you need. And yes, everyone in Washington from the President down has relayed to me as much," Inouye confirmed. "If we can't trust Washington's word, then we're _all_ in trouble."

Marcus nodded, staring down at the floor, lost in thought for a moment. "I don't know how to begin to adequately thank you, Governor."

"You don't have to," Inouye smiled warmly. "And that's _quite_ enough of that. I've told you before, call me Dave."

"Not going to happen, sir."

No," Inouye laughed. "Just like your father... You know, I was talking to General Carter the other day. She told me that, in her opinion, both you and your father are in the top five most important people to this state over the last fifteen years. Everyone in the United States knows who you are. The President's taken a special interest in what you've accomplished. He'll be upset to learn you're not on the first submarine out."

Marcus took all of that in, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible. He knew that the President was the former Air Force Chief of Staff, so the familial connection that went with wearing the same uniform was clearly evident.

"Well, that's awfully kind of the General," Marcus said, not commenting about the President. "As long as _you're_ at the top of this list and my father's ahead of me, I don't have any issue with it."

Inouye just laughed and winked.

"Anyway, how rude of me," Marcus said, struggling to his feet and leaning heavily on his cane. "I was so concerned with what you had to say, I forgot to ask if you wanted anything. Hungry at all? Glass of water?"

"No, that's fi-"

Master Sergeant Mills suddenly burst through the door, a look a look of deep concern on his face. Marcus had his pistol in his hand before he had even realized he'd drawn it.

"Governor Inouye! Please get your armor back on and follow me to the APC."

"What's the problem, Sergeant?" Inouye asked.

"A Fleet of Fog carrier has been spotted off the coast," Mills said breathlessly. "We need to get you to the bunker _now_."

"Well," Marcus deadpanned. "That's not good."

* * *

Author's Note:

There Is A Town, by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds


	9. Yamato

Rosie had heard every word.

She had pretended to be asleep when Marcus had checked on her a little while earlier, thinking it best to sleep in a little. If she were up too early, it might raise suspicion. Humans liked to sleep in, after all.

The Governor and the small contingent of military personnel had just left not two minutes previously, and Marcus had exited the house and was now somewhere on the first floor deck below.

As per what she had learned about Marcus during his conversation with the Governor, not even an approaching Fog ship could make Marcus leave his home. He had even promised that Rosie would be quite safe at the house and had refused to let the military personnel take her with them. Even now, he was defending her; keeping her safe. For whatever reason, he wanted to make sure that Rosie had nothing to do with the human military on the island. Why was he so adamant about this? Why was he _still_ looking out for her and refusing to let anyone take her despite the fact that he seemed to want her gone so much?

Throughout much of the night, Rosie had accessed and consumed as much information about the recent history of Hawaii and about Marcus as she could find. Much of it was stored on Marcus's computer itself, but Hawaii had a rudimentary network where a bunch of other information was accessible. She had learned about everything Marcus had accomplished that was declassified by the military (she was unable to hack into any government databases from here; the computer hadn't provided the correct avenues _to_ them) and was fascinated by the amount of combat he had seen and the prowess he had demonstrated.

She was also completely heartbroken for him. This was something she had given much thought to recently, her propensity for empathy for humans. She could detect and understand emotional pain and she seemed to be rapidly becoming more susceptible to it herself. Her lengthy crying spell just last night because of all this was proof of it.

Of course, she had felt empathy and even a level of attachment for and to certain individual humans before, but for Marcus it was different. It was far more pronounced and she had absolutely no idea why. She had just met him and by all measures of her time among humans, she had absolutely no reason to be so drawn to him and so personally affected by his history after such a short time.

But yet she was.

This concerned her the most. Was she becoming too emotionally compromised to continue her mission? Had her mission and experiences proved so successful that she herself was becoming too human to be objectively effective anymore? She had dealt with a decade of human interaction as well as she thought she could have, but, given these new revelations and her increasing nervousness over them, perhaps it was time to get a second opinion.

Rosie knew she had to voice her concerns and she knew just whom to voice them to.

It had been nearly ten years since Rosie had spoken to Supreme Flagship Yamato. The Supreme Flagship had instructed Rosie to upload her observational data, findings and personal analysis and conclusions regarding her mission directly to Yamato at yearly intervals, but Rosie was only supposed to _contact_ her directly when in some sort of extenuating circumstance.

It was the first time in nearly a decade that Rosie decided such circumstances were present.

Rosie curled up into as tight a ball as she could under the covers and accessed and connected to the private channel that she and Yamato had created at the outset of her mission; the channel had laid dormant ever since, not being necessary for Rosie to directly send the observational data pertaining to her mission.

Suddenly, she was in an enormous, old ballroom, sitting at a large wood table, wearing a red dress covered in lace and ribbons that was far fancier and more elegant than anything she had ever worn during her time among humans.

It seemed that Yamato had made improvements to the channel at some point over the years.

And there, sitting across from Rosie, was the Supreme Flagship herself who was wearing her own elegant dress (that she had always wore, each of the few times Rosie had seen her). Her chestnut brown hair framed her face perfectly and her expression was just as warm and welcoming as Rosie had remembered. Yamato was, with no exception, the single most regal individual, human or Fog, that Rosie had ever seen.

Yamato smiled warmly. "It's been a long time, Rosie. I've missed you."

"Supreme Flagship," Rosie said quietly. "I'm sorry to bother you. I hope I'm not distracting you at an inopportune time..."

"Of course you're not," Yamato seemed stunned at the thought. "I _always_ have time for you, Rosie. Though, I _do_ have to ask, why have you made contact with me? You haven't in such a long, long time."

"It seemed necessary..." Rosie said, trailing off.

"Now, now, don't be embarrassed! I'm actually amazed you haven't in so long. I thoroughly expected you to contact me more than a few times. I've been getting all of your yearly updates just fine, by the way."

"I had thought so, Supreme Flagship," Rosie nodded. "I supposed you would have notified me had the observational data not made it to you."

"I certainly would have, but you've done your job exceptionally, so I never needed to worry about you." Yamato smiled even wider, if that were possible. "I knew that I had chosen wisely when I had picked you for this assignment."

It must have been the fact that Rosie was, for better or worse, becoming more like humans, but the question was out of her mouth before she could even think better of asking it.

"Why _did_ you choose me, Supreme Flagship?"

Immediately regretting the question, Rosie felt her face flush, a sensation that the communication channel replicated flawlessly, to her horror.

"I was always wondering when you would ask that," Yamato replied, obviously noticing that Rosie was blushing. "How is anyone chosen for _anything_ , really? What creates one chance for someone and another for someone else? How does it all work?"

Rosie had no idea where Yamato was going with this, so she listened patiently, hoping to learn.

"It's not just that you haven't ever asked _why_ you were chosen, you've also never asked me why I created your mission in the first place. You _have_ wondered why, haven't you?"

"I have," Rosie confirmed, the warmth in her face thankfully beginning to subside. "Many times. But I thought better than to question you. You did mention once that it was to become better weapons, so that was all I really had to go on."

Yamato nodded understandingly. "Yes, I thought as much... Becoming better weapons is sort of the excuse I give the other ships for it. But Rosie, I assigned you to learn about the humans those ten years ago because I had just formed my mental model. It was... the most wonderful feeling. And I wanted dearly to pass this gift to the rest of the Fog. But, I needed more information to do so effectively. You see, I don't think anyone will ever know just how it was I was able to form my mental model. Nothing like it had ever happened before in the history of the Fog and therefor none of us had any frame of reference on how to accomplish it in the first place, let alone replicate the process."

"But somehow you formed one," Rosie murmured.

"Yes. Somehow... I may never even know exactly how myself, but once I did, I was able to understand non-linear concepts. I was able to understand my own existence. I was able to think and feel."

Yamato grasped her hands together excitedly. "And then, almost the very moment that I formed my mental model and began understanding concepts that I couldn't have even conceived before, _your_ core reactivated. Imagine that! Five _years_ after our naval victory over the humans, where your core hadn't reactivated yet and none of us even knew you existed, suddenly, nearly the very moment I achieved sentience, there you were."

"I didn't know that, Supreme Flagship," Rosie said, the gravity of what Yamato was telling her beginning to register.

"Of _course_ not. I didn't tell you, silly!" Yamato winked. "So, moments after your reactivation was made evident to me, I decided that I wanted to pass this new gift to the rest of the Fog. I calculated that the best way to do so was to gather information on the very creatures we're replicating. I chose you, because not only had you never engaged in combat with the humans and would have no preconceived experience that they were your enemy, but that you also would have no conflicting thoughts or guilt about any past events. You understand the Admiralty Code, yes, but you've never implemented its orders."

"I've never fought humans?" Rosie blinked. "I..."

"Of _course_ you didn't know. I didn't _tell_ you!" Yamato sang.

"But... Supreme Flagship... I still don't entirely understand..."

"I'm hoping you _will_ , just let me finish explaining!" Yamato exclaimed joyously. "It also quickly became apparent to me that your core was quite advanced. In fact, had you reactivated when the rest of us did I think there would have been a good chance that you could have been a Yamato class battleship, like myself or my sister. Though, I suppose given the ship that your core ultimately replicated, you ended up with quite the impressive ship body."

She paused, taking a breath. "And, in addition to everything I've already said, the most important factor in choosing you was a simple decision based on a concept that had just occurred to me at the very moment I realized you existed."

Yamato paused again, seemingly for dramatic effect this time. "Fate... One of the most human concepts we've ever documented. The moment I understood it, the _very_ moment, _there_ you were. I chose you because fate was _telling_ me to."

Rosie thought about this for longer than she meant to before saying something. She became slightly embarrassed about how long it took her to reply. She didn't even begin to know how to comment on Yamato's choosing of her for her mission, so she opted instead for a safer route.

"So... Supreme Flagship..." Rosie said, irritated at how frazzled she sounded. "Has my performance been satisfactory...?"

"Satisfactory? Nonsense!" Yamato waved. "It's been _exemplary_! Just in the last year, with all of the data you've acquired during your mission, I have begun the widespread implementation of mental models throughout the entirety of the Fog. Soon, hopefully, every single ship that can support a mental model will have one."

"That's amazing, Supreme Flagship," Rosie breathed. "We all owe so much to you for that. Sentience is... a most wonderful thing. Most of the time."

"That's the most human thing I've heard you say," Yamato beamed. "But it wasn't exactly just me. You were absolutely instrumental, _crucial_ , in helping me to make it happen. Give yourself the credit you deserve."

Rosie didn't even know what to say to that. For whatever reason, all of the processing power she had wasn't helping her in the slightest during this conversation.

Yamato solved that immediate problem for her, and continued speaking. "So, I can only ascertain that you're here because you're experiencing doubts about your work? I _did_ wonder when that was going to finally happen."

"You _knew_...?" Rosie asked, blinking.

"But of course! I've documented your ongoing emotional evolution and journey in earnest via your yearly updates. Didn't you ever wonder why I asked you to give your own thoughts on each entry?"

"I did..." Rosie said.

"But you didn't think to ask," Yamato finished for her, smiling.

"Yes... I didn't want to question you..."

"Ever the formal one," Yamato waved her hand again. "But you couldn't have known why it was I asked for your own interpretations."

"Because you never told me." It was Rosie's turn to finish Yamato's sentence.

Yamato laughed melodiously. " _Exactly._ You weren't just doing observational research for me. You were also the _subject_."

Rosie wondered momentarily if this should be taken as a compliment. Thankfully Yamato continued speaking, so Rosie didn't have to say anything.

"What I've discovered, even if the mental model concept is proving to be a wonderful success, is a lot of our ships are, shall we say, a little emotionally... _young_... I mean, one can't blame them, really. Suddenly, there you are! A whole sentient being with infinite possibility and infinite emotions with absolutely no instruction on how to _be_. All the computational power in existence can't help you with that; it comes from experience. _You_ , Rosie, have more experience interacting with the very subjects that we're replicating than any other Fog vessel, _and_ you have almost as much experience _being_ as I do. Even giving myself some credit, I think you might just be the most evolved out of all of us, in terms of being, well, _human_."

"That's very kind of you, Supreme Flagship, but I don't know if I agree..."

"And that's exactly why I'm right," Yamato laughed. "You have _doubts_. I mean, of _course_ you do. That's why we're having this conversation in the first place. To doubt is to be human, so I've learned. And so have you, I would gamble."

Yamato smiled and tucked an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. "I don't mean to be presumptuous; I know I can do that sometimes, I apologize. Please, tell me in your own words why you've contacted me today?"

"Because..." Rosie began. "I feel too... compromised for this mission you've honored me with. I don't know if I can effectively continue."

"I _entirely_ disagree," Yamato replied, unperturbed. "Your doubts give me complete confidence of your ability to continue unfettered. I was actually beginning to worry because you had never expressed such doubt to me before, but now I see it was more out of your concern to not 'bother' me than anything else."

"I suppose..." Rosie said quietly.

"If you _truly_ want, I can end your mission." Yamato said reassuringly. "You've already accomplished so _much_. You can rejoin your ship body on a permanent basis and I can assign you to a fleet. You can meet other Fog ships. To think! You've never met a single Fog vessel besides me."

"Would I..." Rosie trailed off for a moment. "Would I have to kill humans...?"

Yamato paused, a serious expression playing across her features. "You would have to obey and follow the Admiralty Code, just like the rest of us."

"I don't want... to kill..." Rosie went quiet before finishing her sentence.

"You can stay on your current mission or you can leave it for whatever reasons you like," Yamato said. "Whatever your justifications for either, it makes no difference to me. Tell me what _you_ want, Rosie."

"I'll stay," Rosie finally said, firmly. "I'll continue my research for however long you'd like me to, Supreme Flagship."

Yamato's face brightened immensely. "That was _exactly_ what I was hoping you'd choose. So, now that heavier subjects are out of the way, do you have any updates on your mission you'd like to share? I only know what you tell me, after all."

"I arrived on the American State of Hawaii last night," Rosie reported. "I thought that after ten years on the the mainland, it would be a good idea to see how the humans living in such an isolated place behaved and interacted."

"And this is exactly why you were the perfect choice!" Yamato exclaimed. "You still have another ten months before your next update and I can't even _wait_ to delve into what you've observed."

"Thank you very much, Supreme Flagship. Your confidence means everything to me." Rosie met Yamato's gaze and managed a weak smile.

"Is there something else I can help you with, Rosie?"

Rosie thought for a moment. "Yes. A Fog vessel is approaching Hawaii. According to the humans on the island I'm on, Fog presence around the Hawaiian Islands is anomalous. I was wondering if this is because of _my_ presence there? Perhaps I was somehow detected during my crossing of the Pacific...?"

"Oh, no," Yamato said. "That's Cora. She's been having some... disciplinary issues. As punishment, her flagship assigned her to patrol the area for the next few months."

A flash of realization crossed Yamato's features. "You see what I'm saying about fate? Cora is one of _your_ sisters. Her core isn't as advanced as yours, but it's advanced enough that she's the same class vessel as you are. It always amazes me when something so seemingly mathematically improbable occurs."

"My... sister?" Rosie asked slowly. She had known from her research of human military history that there were three vessels in her class and she had always wondered if they too had Fog replicas.

"Yes," Yamato nodded. "Very interesting, isn't it? Though I _would_ like to remind you to follow your mission parameters and make no contact with her."

"Of course, Supreme Flagship. There won't be any issues."

"Excellent. Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?"

Rosie thought for a little while, quickly thinking (as she had numerous times during the conversation) of the new human submarine mission to evacuate Hawaii. She was within a nanosecond of informing Yamato about it, but then it occurred to her that people Marcus cared about would be on the first trip out. She decided to say nothing. For now. "No, I think I've reported everything pertinent. Thank you very much for your time, Supreme Flagship. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

Rosie also neglected to mention the satellite she had heard the Governor mention, because she didn't want to add any instability to her position now that she had decided to stay. She could always inform the Supreme Flagship of these revelations later, if she deemed it necessary.

For now, though, she would play her hand very carefully.

"Well, then," Yamato said cheerily, clapping her hands together. "Thank _you_ so much for dropping by and I can't even wait for your next report. Do take care!"

Rosie was just about to sever her connection to the channel when Yamato spoke again.

"Oh, and Rosie...? Listen to your heart."

"What...?"

"Listen to your heart. Trust that it will guide you."

Rosie blinked several times."But we're of the Fog, we don't have-"

"That's all," Yamato nonchalantly cut her off.

Rosie just stared dumbfounded as Yamato simply smiled and gave a wave of goodbye. "You'll understand, sooner or later. I promise... Just listen."

* * *

Author's Note:

The Sea Whisperer, by Lisa Gerrard


	10. Enemy

Sitting in his favorite deck chair and taking a deep drag off a cigarette, Marcus scanned the horizon with the pair of binoculars he had found in an adjacent house several years before.

The first floor deck was raised enough where one could see over the fenced in property of his home and provided a wonderfully unobstructed view of the Pacific which was the dominating feature of the whole area.

He had chosen to live in this particular house for that very reason.

Scanning the ocean slowly, Marcus reflected deeply on his conversation with Governor Inouye. It seemed that every single strange event he had experienced in the last day was but a magnet for another, stranger one.

First, he ran into Rosie. Then, the Governor had stopped by for surprise visit with a plethora of new information he hadn't even finished getting a handle on yet. Now, a Fog ship was bearing down on Oahu, an island that hadn't seen one in over a decade.

What were the odds of all of this? It didn't seem to matter in the slightest that Marcus tried desperately to live a quiet, uneventful existence. No, all the noise in the world seemed to have no problem tracking him down.

The biggest news, if the Governor was the be believed, was the pending evacuation of Hawaii. This was a startlingly revelation. Marcus had long since given up the thought of ever leaving Oahu and had grown to accept his place on it.

There was, of course, a time not that long ago in the grand scheme of things where it had been different. He could remember so clearly the conversations he'd had with his father growing up, where they would discuss in detail what they would do once they reached the mainland. Marcus couldn't even pinpoint a time when those conversations stopped; they just did one day after he enlisted.

He wondered just when it was he had finally lost hope of ever leaving Oahu and had grown completely comfortable with his chosen existence.

It may have been the day his father died.

Marcus looked away from the binoculars for a moment and closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. There he went, thinking about his father again. That subject, like many of Marcus's past, were things he tried very hard _not_ to think about.

He then did what he always did when he found himself looking back; he forced himself to look forward again.

Tossing the spent cigarette in yet another pot (his property was inundated with them, placed in strategic locations) Marcus lit up another and focused again through the binoculars at the ocean.

Focus on the now.

And the now, for Marcus, was trying to catch a glimpse of this Fog ship that decided to show up and throw Oahu for a loop. Word around the campfire, otherwise known as the military gossip pool, was that some of the bigger Fog ships had recently started to develop some sort of avatar, like a cybernetic, human-like stand in of some sort. The rumors were foggy at best and none of them included any clear indication on just why the Fog would do this, but that was utterly normal. No one had ever really figured out the Fog, so the lack of any clear, reliable information was well within the ordinary.

The sun was up and bright and the sky was clear. The breeze coming from the ocean caressed his face and offered the slight smell of sea salt that he found genuinely comforting.

After an entire childhood spent growing up in and around military installation, several years of it during a complete lockdown, with all hell broken loose on the other side, Marcus would never take such a view or such a feeling of freedom for granted ever again.

He surprised himself even, with that thought of freedom. He was, as he had been for nearly sixteen years now, trapped on a small island in the Pacific Ocean, with, up until now, no hope of ever leaving. Perhaps since this was the most freedom he had ever experienced, it was all he thought he would ever need. He didn't really know. All he knew was that he had no interest whatsoever in returning to the mainland.

Marcus trusted Governor Inouye explicitly. He knew the man would keep his word and if this new submarine program could perform as it was promised to, Marcus would have a seat on the final ride to leave the state of Hawaii.

The only problem was, Marcus had no intention of leaving. He suppose he would cross that bridge in three years, if he ever even had to cross it at all.

By this time, Marcus was quite used to things not exactly working out for him. That was the Oahu way, on a whole.

Marcus heard the sliding glass door behind him open and he quickly spun his head to bring it into view.

He knew perfectly that it was Rosie, but this was just the way he was programmed: Always know your surroundings; assume nothing, even if you know things for a fact.

And of course, there she was, wearing her pale red sundress with her red ballet flats, carrying his bunched up sweatshirt.

Given that he was somewhat drunk the night before and the fact that he was purposely trying to avoid looking at her, Marcus had been able to avoid many observations about Rosie that he couldn't now.

Stepping into the sunlight, Marcus could see her perfectly.

She had very pale, freckled skin and straight rust red hair that that reached mid-back and was wavering slightly in the breeze. She wore no jewelry and didn't seem to have any makeup on (though, again, women were a little foreign to Marcus of late, so maybe he just couldn't tell).

She met his gaze with her own and the light reflected off her eyes, which appeared to be gray and obviously full of intelligence.

It had been a while since Marcus had been around a girl, but he still knew a beautiful one when she was standing right in front of him.

Remembering perfectly his behavior the night before and more than a little embarrassed at it, Marcus tried to be as welcoming as possible. As the shock of her unexpected presence had had its time to wear off (and the fact that he was still completely sober today), Marcus decided that welcoming was the best thing to attempt.

Not to mention that he had important news to tell Rosie. He didn't like it much himself and he honestly doubted she would either.

"Good morning!" he said, as cheerily as possible. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah..." Rosie rubbed her eyes, as if to try to wake herself up. "I did, thank you. Did you? I still feel bad about taking your bed..."

"And I still don't care," Marcus replied. "I honestly think you're underestimating how comfortable that couch is."

"That still doesn't make me feel any better," Rosie said, brushing hair out of her eyes with an absent minded swipe of her hand.

She closed the sliding door and just stood there for a few moments, as if she were waiting to be invited over. Though, finding this strange, Marcus obliged.

"Would you like to sit down?" he gestured to the second deck chair that he had placed next to his (at a respectful distance) planning for this very eventuality.

Rosie glided over gracefully, and sat, bundling up his sweatshirt in her lap.

"I heard voices," she stated. "Did you have something on?"

Marcus shook his head, and took a drag from his current cigarette. "Don't have a TV. If I want to watch something I do it on my computer. But no, someone was over."

"I thought you didn't like visitors?" she observed.

"This is true," Marcus shrugged. "But it was an old friend. I make exceptions for some people."

"But not for me?"

Marcus laughed. "I can be a little rough around the edges, I admit. No, you're fine, don't worry about it."

Rosie thought about this for a few moments before pointing at the binoculars in his hand. "Are you looking at something?"

" _For_ something, actually..." Marcus was not excited about this subject, but it had just come up, so might as well dive in.

"Rosie," he began. "Please don't panic... According to my friend, there's a Fog ship heading towards us. That's what I'm looking for; never seen one myself. But, we're totally fine right here, I promise."

If any of this news concerned her, Rosie didn't show it in the slightest.

"Oh," was all she said in reply.

"Well... That wasn't so bad," Marcus muttered. "Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Nevermind," Marcus waved his hand. "A lot of people don't understand the Fog and just start fucking panicking whenever the name is dropped. I didn't know if you'd be one of _those_ people."

Rosie blinked. "No, I'm okay. That ship won't hurt us."

"Not unless we break the rules, anyway," Marcus agreed. "I'm not even sure we _can_ break their rules anymore. This island is a little short on things that piss the Fog off."

"I suppose," Rosie said, glancing to the ocean, before turning her gaze back to him. "Marcus... What do _you_ think of the Fog?"

"Huh?" Marcus asked, bewildered. What a bizarre question.

"What do you think of them?"

Marcus sighed. "There's the politically correct answer and the answer I actually believe. Which do you want to hear?"

"I want to hear the truth."

"I don't think you'll like it."

"I don't care what you think."

Marcus smiled. "Yeah, you never _seem_ to. Unless you're asking me a question about something, of course."

Rosie just stared, her face showing deep interest.

"Okay," Marcus said. "But again, you wanted to know."

Marcus looked through his binoculars for another few moments, before taking a final, deep drag on his cigarette and tossing it into the ceramic pot.

"I think the Fog are a bunch of lazy motherfuckers."

"...What...?" Rosie looked stunningly confused and it was kind of adorable.

Marcus laughed, trying to defuse what could prove to ultimately be a horribly awkward situation. "Would you like me to elaborate further? I would encourage you _not_ to want that, by the way."

"No, please do."

" _Your_ call," Marcus lit up another cigarette. "I think humanity was always on the verge of being destroyed. Either we would do it to ourselves, which was my first natural conclusion, or an outside force would do it _for_ us. As it turns out, the Fog show up, seemingly intending on doing just that. They kill probably billions of people, either by direct or indirect action, gain a foothold over the majority of the planet, and then... they just sit there, dicking around for the next fifteen years. Why not finish the job? If they can recreate warships then certainly they could recreate tanks or other ground based assault vehicles. I wouldn't fuck with a Fog Tiger tank, would you?"

Marcus paused to take another puff from his cigarette and to politely see if Rosie would want to interject, or ask him a question, or (seemingly the obvious choice) tell him to shut the fuck up. But no, she just sat there intently, waiting for him to continue.

So he did.

"So, why not finish the job? Why let us sit here? Granted, in places _like_ here we damn near wiped ourselves out anyway, but over on the mainland? Humanity is, supposedly, more united than at any point in history. I mean, the United States alone has combined with two other countries and are working on adding even more to the union, so I've heard. That's just what we _know_ about. Who knows how things are going in Europe or Asia, for instance? I would hope they've allied similarly."

"You don't hate the Fog, do you?" Rosie asked.

Marcus thought for a long time. "At first, when I was a kid especially, I thought I did. But then, it occurred to me, sometime after I enlisted, that the Fog were never really the enemy. A enemy, sure, but not _the_ enemy."

"What do you mean...?"

"The Fog are machines right?" Marcus said, looking to the sky. "At least, that's what we _think_ they are."

"That's what I've heard, yes."

"Well, then they're just doing what they're programmed to do, aren't they? They take over the oceans and wipe out anything that stands between them and that goal. They don't seem to have any interest in doing anything more and no one can figure out why. Whatever they're doing, it's not personal. They can't hate us, or they'd just wipe us out, right?"

Marcus turned to glance at Rosie, thinking he'd see some sort of concern in her face, but seeing only the interest, fascination and curiosity that she always seemed to possess.

"Rosie... I enlisted when I was sixteen years old. I was in the Air Force for five years and I fought in more battles than I really care to remember. I've never, not once, fought the Fog. Hell, I've never even _seen_ a Fog ship before... No, what I really hate is humanity. I mean, of course individual people are rarely ever evil or malevolent, but the species as a whole is universally destructive. In our case, our bad apples really do fuck everything up. It would be nice to imagine a future where we could somehow evolve past that, but even if we manage to ever beat the Fog, I just don't see it happening. No, the Fog could have put humanity out of its collective misery a decade and a half ago, but those lazy bastards just refuse to finish the job."

"Do you want them to? To finish the job...?" Rosie asked, unmoving.

"That's complicated," Marcus replied, thinking. "I just don't think I'd mind terribly much if they did, is all."

"You really hate people that much just because they can be destructive?"

"Yeah. That's pretty much it, really. Not all people, of course. Not even anyone personally, that I can think of. Maybe I just hate the concept of people, of humanity. I don't really know."

"Do you hate _me_?" Rosie asked quietly.

"No, of course not!" Marcus stammered. "Why would you think that?"

"Because... All you want me to do is leave."

Marcus sighed. She _was_ right about that. He thought for a while, before formulating a response. "My problems are _my_ problems. They're not yours. You haven't done anything wrong."

"I don't want you to be alone." Rosie legitimately looked as if she were about to cry.

"Woah, woah," Marcus said, trying to be as soothing as possible. "Where's _this_ coming from?"

But all Rosie did was simply avert her gaze from him and look to the ocean.

* * *

Author's Note:

Firstly, thanks again for all the support!  
Secondly, I usually try to respond to detailed reviews in depth so I can help explain any observations, or questions, but some people have the IM feature turned off. So, if you're not getting feedback on your feedback, that's why.  
Anyway, until next time!

Choice Kingdom, by Alt-J


	11. Programmed

Rosie was completely, utterly and uncharacteristically lost.

She had no absolutely no idea what was wrong with her. For the first time since she became aware of her own existence, she began to seriously wonder if she was legitimately malfunctioning. Why else would she be reacting in such ways? Why else would she be blurting out and saying things without even thinking them through first? Of course, she had always assumed that interacting with humans and learning their behavior would change her in some way, but up until today she had never seriously worried about her own intellectual and emotional well being.

She was a quantum computer. Why wasn't this all so simple for her? The Supreme Flagship had told her that she was advanced even for a Fog ship, so why was she having these problems? What was wrong with her?

She felt her face flush red and knew that it was yet another automatic reaction that had somehow programmed itself into her systems during the last few years. She was embarrassed and she couldn't help it. She even tried immediately and in vain to shut that particular response down, but couldn't make her systems or her body obey.

"Hey," Marcus said, sitting up, eyes full of concern. "Rosie, what's wrong?"

She didn't even know what to say and couldn't summon a response; she just stared out at the ocean while running a system diagnostic to see if that could identify any problems.

"I..." Rosie started after a few moments. "I don't know..."

"So, tell me about you?"

She turned to face him, confused. "What...?"

"Tell me about you," Marcus smiled warmly. "Your name is Rosie Dahlia Franklin. You're twenty-one and you live in Hiawatha. That's pretty much all I know."

Rosie breathed in and out several times, not even realizing she was doing so automatically to try to calm herself down. Of course, having read her fraudulent I.D., he knew some things, but most things about her, or more accurately about her recently fabricated cover story, he didn't know. Rosie had spent a good portion of the night putting her cover together and now seemed like it was going to be the time to test it out.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything!" Marcus said, putting his binoculars in his lap, throwing his finished cigarette in the pot next to his chair and giving her his full attention. "At least, everything you're willing to share, of course."

Rosie felt the sun shining on her face and the cool breeze coming off the Pacific delicately playing with her hair and she breathed in deeply once again. Her system scan had revealed no abnormalities and she could feel herself calming down. Maybe she had control over herself again.

She tested this theory out and began to talk, concentrating to make sure that whatever emotional response had paralyzed her before wasn't currently present.

"Well... I'm a florist; I work with flowers."

"I didn't know there were many of those left on Oahu," Marcus commented. "I mean, plenty of flowers here, just didn't think the demand was around anymore. Shows you how out of touch I am."

Rosie smiled, as she felt the warmth on her face lessening, save for the sun's rays. "Yeah. There's _always_ demand for flowers!"

"How'd you find your way into that field? Of flowers? I mean, I guess your name might help a little, there..."

Rosie giggled a little. No, she was definitely fine now. She would have to keep an eye on her systems going forward; make sure nothing else too bizarre happened.

"Oh, I don't know. I just found that it was work I liked to do and I'm good at it. So..."

"Yeah, we all seem to gravitate towards what we're good at..." Marcus muttered, gazing out at the Pacific. "So, what's your life like, Rosie?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean exactly that. What's your family like? Your friends? What do you do for fun when you're not playing with flowers?"

Rosie hoped she was ready for this moment. She had spent several hours the night before fabricating a life story that she hoped would hold water, at least to some level of scrutiny. She dearly hoped Marcus would believe her.

She took a breath and began. "I'm an only child. My parents were killed during The Fifth Column attack on Wheeler Air Base."

Rosie tried inflecting this in such a way that would make her sound just faintly upset about it. She wasn't sure if that part had worked, but it didn't seem to matter.

"Yeah, the Battle of Wheeler," Marcus sighed. "I was there. That was a rough one. A lot of people died in the crossfire who shouldn't have. I'm sorry, Rosie."

"It's okay," Rosie said quietly. "I got through it fine."

"What about friends?"

"I don't have any."

Marcus laughed a little at that. "What, nice girl like you? Forgive me if I don't believe you."

Rosie paused for a moment, to add effect. "It's true. After what happened to my parents, I just... I just kind of withdrew."

Remaining silent for a few moments, Marcus breathed out. "Yeah... Yeah, I understand that."

"What about you? Where's your family?" Rosie already, of course, knew all about this.

"Yeah, no. It's Talk About Rosie Day," Marcus grinned. "Plus, my story's really _boring_ , anyway."

"That's not what _I've_ heard," Rosie returned his grin, genuinely.

"Oh, really? What _have_ you heard?"

"Sergeant Sullivan said you were the bravest man he'd ever met."

"Oh, Sully? Yeah, he's a _legendary_ exaggerator. Take what he says with few grains of salt and a lot of grains of skepticism."

"That's what he called you."

"What, grains of salt...?"

"No, silly!" Rosie giggled and meant it. "He called you a legend. He said everyone on Oahu knew about you."

"Well, evidently not, thank Christ," Marcus pulled another cigarette from his metal case that was sitting on his chair's armrest and lit it. "You don't seem to know who I am, which is actually quite refreshing, by the way. I'd thank you for your ignorance, but that would probably sound strange. Or rude. In fact, I should probably stop talking now, huh...? Don't suppose you want one of these?"

Marcus offered her a cigarette.

"No thank you. I don't smoke." Rosie admitted to herself that telling the truth was nice, especially to Marcus, for some reason. She regretted having to tell him such blatant lies, but there was really no other way.

Marcus nodded. "Smart girl."

"Marcus..." Rosie began. "You said you were at the battle where my parents died. I wasn't there that day. What was it like?"

Marcus breathed out smoke and Rosie could tell he was fighting for the nicest way to go about answering.

"It wasn't good. It just... wasn't. We didn't even get into Hiawatha until towards the end, after the main force was repelled. By then, we were too late for a lot of people."

"Did you-"

"I don't like talking about it," Marcus cut her off, politely but firmly. "I'll tell you this much, I'm glad _you_ weren't there."

"Because of what I could have seen?"

"No, because of what could have _happened_ to you." Marcus glanced at her and his gaze seemed to linger for longer than he meant it to before he turned back to the ocean. "I'm glad you're still here."

"Why?"

Marcus looked back at her, bewildered. "Why am I glad you're _alive_?"

"Yes. Why do you care?"

"Wow," Marcus blinked. "I don't even know how to go about answering that. Are you serious?"

"You just said you hate people. That you wouldn't mind if we all died. Why do you care what happens to me?" Rosie definitely had to figure this out; it made absolutely no sense to her and she had to learn more.

"Okay," Marcus chuckled. "Yeah, I did say that and I do mean it, I guess. But I also said I don't hate most individuals personally and don't wish them harm. I just wouldn't go out of my way to save humanity if something like say, the Fog decided to finish what they started."

"I don't understand..." Rosie blinked. "You risked your _life_ to help me. Why would you do that if you don't care?"

"Because I _could_ help you," Marcus said firmly. "At that moment, I could _do_ something to help you. What's my other alternative? _Not_ help you? Walk the fuck away? No, I'm just not programmed that way."

"Programmed...?"

"Yeah, we all have it, in one way or another," Marcus looked at her again. "Behavior we just can't control. My instinct, when I see someone who needs help is to _help_ them. Not look for someone to help them, not stare at the situation like a fucking moron and sure as shit not walk away. That's just me. I don't _have_ another choice. It's not kindness and it's not bravery. It's just how it is."

"Is that why you live out here? So you won't have to to be put in situations like that?"

Marcus laughed loudly. "Yeah, if that _were_ the case, it's just working out wonderfully." He smiled at her. "No, I live out here for a lot of reasons, but I can't say that was a conscious one."

"Why _do_ you live out here, then?"

"Just _how_ did we stop learning about Rosie and get back onto the startlingly boring topic of Marcus?" Marcus stared at her. "You know, if you weren't so attached to flowers, you'd make a fine journalist. Or a psychiatrist. Or a lawyer."

"Why do you say that?"

Marcus laughed again. "Yeah, you're _good_."

He looked to the Pacific again, before breathing in deeply. "Listen... I wasn't looking forward to this topic, but I'd better get to it... With the Fog ship bearing down on us, standard procedure is, of course, a general lockdown of the island for a few days to see what the ship does. No vehicles and no unnecessary foot traffic. It if follows standard Fog patterns, things will resume to mostly normal after that."

"Yes, that's standard; I've read about it." This was true.

"Right, so, I could try to break protocol and sneak you back to your place, but we'd both be in somewhat serious trouble if we got caught doing that."

Marcus paused and it seemed to Rosie that he was having a hard time saying the words.

"Or you could... stay here."

Rosie thought for a moment. "What if I walked home?"

"Yeah, not letting you do that," Marcus shook his head. "You've already proved that you walking around out here is a little bit perilous, at best. I can't in good conscious let that happen."

"I could always sneak off whenever you're asleep or not watching," Rosie shrugged.

Marcus grinned. "Yeah, you definitely _could_. I would strongly recommend against it, though."

"You don't want me here," Rosie stated. It definitely wasn't a question. "I don't understand why you'd invite me to stay if you don't want me here."

"Because it's the right thing to do!" Marcus said, stunned. "It doesn't matter what I want. It only matters what's right."

"It matters to _me_ ," Rosie crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly as she looked away.

"Okay..." Marcus thought for a moment. "So, what do you want here, exactly?"

"I want you to invite me to stay and I want _you_ to want that," Rosie said simply.

Marcus didn't respond for a tense moment. "...And what if I don't?"

"Then I'm leaving." Rosie stood up to illustrate her point, tossing Marcus's sweatshirt to him and brushing her dress off to smooth out any wrinkles.

She desperately hoped this gamble would work.

"Well, that's quite the emotional blackmail, right there." Marcus said, matching her gaze and refusing to blink.

"I don't care what you call it. This _matters_ to me."

...Okay..." Marcus muttered. "It matters to _me_ that you're safe. Here, you're a lot safer than anywhere else nearby. By that rational, yes, I do what you to stay. But only if that's what you want and only if you feel safe here. If not, I have no issue trying to drive you home. I just can't promise that we won't get caught and if we are, I can't guarantee that I can get you off scot-free."

With a deep inward breath, Marcus finished his cigarette and tossed it into the ceramic pot. "Is this all acceptable?"

Rosie remained quiet for a few moments (she had decided instantly that it was) as she wanted to make Marcus wait. This was an important part of her plan and she needed to play the part.

"Yes," she smiled, sitting back down. "It is. Was that so hard?"

"You have _no_ idea," Marcus muttered. "I don't have any clothes for women and I'm lacking in certain other feminine... necessities. We can always look in some of the neighboring houses as I'm wont to do when I need something. Or need to kill time... But other than that, we should have everything you'd need... Is anyone at home going to miss you? Basic phone traffic is still allowed."

"I don't have any friends and I live alone," Rosie said succinctly. "There's no one for me to tell anything to."

There were a few moments pause as a warm wash of relief flowed over Rosie. She, of course, wanted to stay right here. There was so much about Marcus she still wanted to know and she had to solve why he seemed to be the cause of the ghost errors that had been cropping up in her system. The only way to figure that out was further study. She just hoped the Supreme Flagship had been correct when she had told Rosie that she had utter confidence in her abilities to continue the mission. Rosie ran another quick system analysis to see if anything was amiss and nothing was. She had no idea what was going wrong with her. She suspected the obvious, of course: that after ten years with humans she had become enough like them to finally cross that dangerous line into the loss of objectivity, but again, the Supreme Flagship didn't seem concerned, so everything must have been fine.

Whatever the case, Rosie couldn't wait to figure it out.

"So, Rosie, do you feel comfortable here?" Marcus asked after a moment. "That's important to me, I guess."

Rosie smiled warmly. "I do. I told you I feel safe here. That's the truth." And it sure was nice to be able to tell it every now and again.

"Okay," Marcus returned her smile and stood up, grabbing his cane and heading to the sliding glass door. "Come on; I know you _have_ to be hungry."

* * *

Author's Note:

Analyse, by Thom Yorke


	12. Curiosity

Marcus was already regretting this whole situation.

Of course he had known himself well enough to know that would be the case the moment he made the offer to Rosie, but that didn't lesson the feeling any.

Obviously, there was no way in the world he'd ever abandon her or kick her out, certainly not with a full island lockdown now in effect. He was perfectly willing to violate that in order to get her home, had she so wished, but he was glad she hadn't opted for that. Odds were that she would have been in far more trouble than he had they been caught doing that particular option and that was something Marcus also couldn't abide by.

He was stuck with her for the next few days and he would just have to live with what he was programmed to do.

Marcus knew his neighborhood in Iroquois Point as well as he knew himself. Every house within a mile had long since been fully, systematically categorized based on its condition and what it contained in the way of supplies or other objects of any use.

During the evacuation fifteen years prior, the former residents hadn't had time to take much with him and here most of it remained. Anything that hadn't been taken by scavengers or by Marcus himself was, depending on the condition of the house that contained it, more or less intact.

It was a real shame, really. Marcus had long ago raised the point to General Carter that there was a lot of viably useful things left in Iroquois Point that could be distributed among the remaining residents of Hawaii, but he had been met with sound rejection on his proposal from the Air Force.

There were so few people left on Hawaii, compared to how many there had been before the invasion, that generally speaking everyone had what they needed and Iroquois Point and everything on it (Marcus included himself) were redundant. Marcus had hoped any survivors left who may have lived here before the invasion could return to gather what was theirs, but it occurred to him that most of them were likely long gone.

In the end, like a lot of things on Oahu, it ultimately didn't matter and the neighborhood became free game to Marcus and anyone brave or stupid enough to violate the no trespassing order and scavenge around.

Marcus and Rosie were now in a house down the street from his residence, in a home (that was in really good condition compared to others nearby) that Marcus had long ago noted a couple of teenage girls had likely lived in, so there were clothes and maybe other feminine necessities that Rosie might need to make her stay with him some measure of comfortable.

Over breakfast (bacon and fried eggs, the only thing Marcus was any good at making _for_ breakfast) Marcus had proposed this little adventure and Rosie had jumped at the chance, saying that she wanted to explore Iroquois Point further, finding the abandoned neighborhood, in her words, fascinating.

The morning and early afternoon were the best times to rummage about the neighborhood for supplies, given that the sun was as bright as it was going to get during the day. This made it easy, generally, to navigate in electricity deficient homes. Even still, Marcus collected several of the numerous flashlights he had in his possession and had issued one to Rosie to assist further. He had also found a backpack among his collection of various bags and had given it to her as well to transport anything she might find

He sat now in a living room recliner while Rosie looked around a bedroom upstairs, hunting for anything that might prove useful to her.

This was nice, because sitting down was the best way to keep the pain in his left leg and back from flaring up too much, but it was also a detriment because it offered him unencumbered time to think.

And, of course, he was thinking about Rosie.

He had been rather concerned when she had blurted out that she didn't want him to be alone and was even more concerned about her bizarre use of emotional blackmail to force him into saying he wanted her to stay with him, even though the only thing he really wanted was for her to be safe, the location best suited for which in the entire area being totally coincidental and somewhat (in Marcus's view) unfortunate.

What was this girl playing at? What was her endgame? Why did she care whether or not Marcus was alone or not? She knew _nothing_ about him. Literally. She had no idea who he was or what he had done, or anything about his 'hero' status on Oahu.

Marcus once again thought briefly that she might be some sort of mental case, but her I.D. would have contained a disclaimer had that been the case. He could only conclude that she was just a little off. She seemed harmless enough; certainly not a danger to him, he thought. Though, even still, this was one of the reasons he had refused the military's offer to transport her home with them. Her story still seemed a little odd and he _really_ didn't want her to ultimately get in any trouble.

Then he thought about her parents. He knew perfectly what it was like to lose someone to violence. She had even said she had withdrew from everyone. Maybe that's why she was the way she was; just a little off. She seemed really sweet and even a little timid at times and it was, of course, obvious that she was smart. Just _very_ eccentric.

Marcus dearly hoped he wouldn't say or do anything to upset her for the duration of her stay, but he had no idea if he would be able to accomplish that. He wasn't the most pleasant person in the world these days.

At any rate he was stuck with her for a little while. It looked like he would have to set up a more permanent, more comfortable sleeping situation under his truck.

He also wondered when he'd get around to ask a question that had bothered him since the moment he had first run into her: Just what was she doing out on Iroquois Point in the first place?

"Marcus?" Rosie called from the second floor landing at the top of the stairs. "I think I'm just about done."

He looked up. She was wearing denim short shorts and a faded black T-shirt representing some band that he had never heard of and likely didn't exist anymore. She had tied her hair into a simple ponytail using what looked like a strand of blue ribbon.

Trying very hard to not think about her appearance, Marcus nonchalantly replied. "Find everything you need?" Of course the prettiest girl on Oahu would just wander into the path of his life. Of _course_.

She nodded and smiled. "Yeah, I should be all set. I grabbed enough stuff for at least a week."

"Yeah, I can wash clothes, you know. If you have three outfits we can make it work indefinitely."

"So, you're inviting me over indefinitely?" Her grin turned to one of sly amusement.

"Nope!" Marcus replied sardonically, matching her grin.

"Do you want that table?" she asked, glancing to the one in the center of the room that Marcus was sitting in.

"Yeah, it's inoffensive enough. Matches my home layout perfectly, at any rate."

"What layout?"

"Exactly."

Rosie glided downstairs, backpack swung over one shoulder, and she sat on a small couch opposite Marcus, as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back in order to avoid staring at her.

"Do you want help moving this?" Rosie asked, regarding the table.

"Oh, no," Marcus said, "I'll just get Sully or someone to help me whenever the next patrol comes over to bother me. Shouldn't be too terribly long, even with the lockdown. I was actually expecting a supply run in a few days, though that's likely canceled due to a mild case of pending Fog, may God help us all."

"What do you think the Fog ship is here for?" Rosie asked.

"Couldn't tell you," Marcus opened his eyes and accepted the inevitable: that he would have to, over the next few days, look at this girl at _some_ point. "Have _you_ heard any new rumors about the Fog?"

"Rumors like what?" Rosie cocked her head a little and her ponytail danced over her shoulder at the sudden motion of her head.

"Well, word is the Fog, at least some of the bigger ships have rolled out some form of avatar. Like, a robot or cyborg or some goddamn thing for some goddamn reason."

"No," Rosie blinked. "I hadn't heard that. Why would they do that?"

"I don't even know if they _are_ doing that," Marcus shrugged. "It's just a rumor making the rounds at Pearl Harbor-Hickam, supposedly. Just wondered if it was also floating around among the civilians of the island. I don't exactly have any fingers on the pulse of this place, as you could well understand."

"Nor do I," Rosie said quietly. "I don't really... talk to many people."

Marcus sighed a little to himself. "Well, I would encourage you to change that, but I guess it would be a little hypocritical of me to say."

"It certainly would," Rosie agreed flatly, pulling no punches.

"Ouch," Marcus muttered, struggling to his feat and leaning on his cane. "You good?"

"Yes," Rosie stood up as well and followed Marcus to the front door. "What's the plan now?"

"Oh, other than my own boring routine we don't have much in the way of plans out here. I said you could stay for a few days; I didn't say that you'd have fun."

Rosie giggled a little as the pair made their way out into the brightly shining sun and onto the paved street and headed in the direction of home.

"Hey, Marcus..?" she said after a few steps.

"What's on your mind?" he replied, lighting up a cigarette.

"Well," she started, seeming to have trouble finding the words. "What if the Fog really are forming... avatars? What does that mean, you think?"

Marcus just shrugged. "I couldn't even begin to tell you. Honestly, if they could, that's what _I_ would do, I guess, for a few reasons."

"Like what?"

"Well, firstly it'd be a good way to spy, I'd imagine... Though, now that I think of it, I don't know why they'd even _bother_ doing that. Spying implies one is gathering intelligence in order to help hurt their enemy. Like, they _need_ said information. The Fog could wipe us out whenever they wanted, regardless of any information they might gather. They just don't seem to _want_ to fuck us up further, God knows why."

Marcus took a deep inhale on his cigarette, giving it further thought. "You know what, never mind. I have no fucking idea what purpose it serves, from their point of view."

He took another couple of hobbled steps before looking to Rosie. "Why, you have any theories? You seem relatively interested in them."

Rosie smiled. "I've been interested in the Fog for years. They're a fascinating conundrum. What if they did it to understand us, humanity, better?"

Marcus thought on that for a moment. "That's a interesting thought, but again, I can't see _why_ that'd be practical. They don't _need_ to know us any better than they already seem to in order to beat the hell out of us. Whatever their objective is, they're obviously accomplishing it just fine. I can't see why having an avatar would help."

"Maybe we'll never know," Rosie trailed off.

"Yeah, never knowing is the state I'm used to living in. I just try to worry about one day to the next. Try not to think too far ahead because who knows how far ahead you have. That's the Oahu way, after all. We should probably put a motto like that on our fucking flag."

"But you're young!" Rosie seemed startled. "You have your whole life ahead of you. Isn't there something you want to do in the future?"

Marcus laughed. "You know, I'd warn you that what I'm going to say is horribly cynical, but I've said so much cynical and terrible shit already and you've seemed pretty undeterred thus far, so I'm not even going to bother editing myself or warning you."

"Please don't. I want to hear what you actually think."

"Oh, so what I think matters now?"

"In this particular scenario, yes."

"Because you say so?"

"Yes."

Marcus laughed even louder this time, as his house came into view around the bend in the road. "It'll be a good day when I figure out what I think that _does_ and _doesn't_ matter to you."

"Maybe you'll get there someday," she smiled. "Wouldn't _that_ be something to look forward to?"

Marcus sighed, after a minute or so of silence. "If you must know, to answer your question, no, not really. I look forward to the next day and I look forward to scheduled things like supply runs. That's about it."

Rosie looked crestfallen. "There's nothing you want to do?"

"No," Marcus said, opening the gate and waving his hand in front of Rosie to invite her in first.

"That's... sad..." The expression on Rosie's face plainly reflected that her feelings on the matter matched her words.

"Yeah, well sometimes sad's just in the cards. You grew up on Oahu. You've lost people. You probably understand."

"There's always _something_ to be happy about."

"Yes," Marcus agreed, wondering where she was possibly going with this. "I'm happy enough to be alive. I get to live the way I want, which on Oahu is kind of a big deal. I mean, you don't hear me complaining, do you?"

"Well, no..."

"Then don't worry about it," Marcus said, climbing the set of stairs to the front porch and spiking the spent cigarette in the designated pot. "Don't worry about me. Just worry about _you_."

* * *

The remainder of the day went by fairly uneventfully. Marcus was able to keep to his workout routine of core exercises and biking on a machine (his exercise room was one of the bedrooms of the large, five bedroom house, re-purposed for this), neither of which hurt him too terribly much to do. He had shown Rosie his large library of books (in another bedroom) and had told her she could read whatever she wanted, before he had taken a shower. Given that he knew the poor girl was going to likely be bored out of her mind as her stay went on and Marcus had little intention of spending every waking moment she was here with her, he figured it would be best if there were things she could occupy herself with without needing him.

He had cautioned her strongly against leaving the property without him and she had agreed without too much fuss. He also promised that they would go out and about Iroquois Point every day, which was perfectly consistent with his routine, anyway.

Maybe having a girl around wouldn't jack up his happily lonely and set routine _too_ much.

Then again, who was he kidding.

* * *

Marcus and Rosie sat now at the table on his back deck as the sun began it's nightly descent. It was dinner time and Marcus, not feeling remotely like cooking, opted to just throw MREs at the problem.

"I would highly recommend the Cheese Tortellini," Marcus said, slapping down the two MREs he had collected from his good sized stockpile on the wooden table. "It's easily my favorite one."

"Well, then won't you want it?" Rosie asked, obviously trying to be polite.

"Psh," Marcus waved her off. "I've eaten hundreds of them. Literally. I think I can go without one for one night. Plus, you're my guest! And I think you're supposed to be nice to guests, or something..."

Rosie laughed and smiled at him. "You really aren't very good at this, are you?"

"Lady, you have no idea," Marcus deadpanned. "I'm surprised I remembered to _not_ feed you bleach. Or I haven't lit you on fire trying to light a cigarette or something."

Rosie giggled. "So, are you just not good with girls, or with guests in general?"

"Either, I guess. I've actually never had a single person out here that stayed more than a couple hours."

"So, I'm special, huh?" Rosie asked, that sly twinkle in her eye as she reached for the MRE Marcus had recommended and began trying to open it.

"Circumstantially special," Marcus said, waving to the Pacific. "You can thank our friend the Fog for that."

"Well, thank you, Marcus-"

"Nope," Marcus cut her off. "Don't thank me. I mean it... And here, let me get that for you."

Marcus opened her MRE and handed it back to her.

"The individual packets are easier to open," Marcus assured her, opening his own MRE which was the Chili and Macaroni, easily his third favorite kind. "You want the main course heated?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "I want to see how that works!"

So, Marcus proceeded to show her how the flameless, self heating packet worked. He opened the heating packet, placed the main course packet into it and filled it to the designated line with water from his old, beat up water bottle and let science take over.

"How does it work, exactly?" Rosie asked, clearly fascinated.

"That's above my pay grade," Marcus smiled a little. "If it doesn't involve shooting things, I'm a little out of my element."

He regretted saying that as soon as it left his mouth.

Rosie turned to him looking shocked and saddened.

"Shit," he muttered. "Sorry... Bad joke... Most of the socializing I've had my entire life has been with military people and that's just how we talk. I'm not used to having more civilized company."

"Or company at all," Rosie said, quietly.

"Or that, yeah."

This was going to be a long few days. Marcus didn't know how long he could keep up this fair to poor charade of hospitality. Sooner or later, he was going to say something or do something that was going to horribly offend or upset this girl. He wished that wasn't the case, but he knew himself well enough to know that it was an inevitability. And the longer she stayed, the higher the chance of this became.

"Marcus...?" Rosie asked, with a small voice. "You said you'd fought in a lot of battles-"

"I don't want to talk about it," he responded firmly.

"But you just-"

"I know what I said. It was a bad joke and I'm sorry I said it."

"Marcus-"

"No," he snapped, before sighing, and wiping a hand over his face. "I don't talk about it. That's all."

There were several minutes of woefully awkward silence, as Marcus extracted Rosie's main course from the heating packet and opened it, before handing it to her. He drank several large gulps of whiskey as he did this, knowing it was the best thing to mellow him out a little.

"Enjoy!" he said, before picking up his own meal and eating it without heating it, like the neanderthal he was, he amusingly noted to himself.

"Thank you," Rosie accepted the cheese tortellini and took a bite. She smiled. "It's really good!"

"Told you!" Marcus agreed. "Number thirteen: Cheese Tortellini. By _far_ the best one. Vegetarian friendly too, if that sort of thing concerns you."

"It doesn't." She took another bite.

"A true Oahu resident," Marcus smiled. "Eat whatever you can get your hands on."

"Marcus?" Rosie asked between bites. "Have you ever had a girlfriend?"

"Wait, what now?" Marcus asked, dumbfounded.

"I'm just curious," Rosie said innocently, blinking her eyes and generally looking adorable.

Well, Marcus could really see no reason to lie to her. "Yes. A couple times. One serious one, which was the last one."

"How did it end?"

"Not well," Marcus shrugged. "She's still around Oahu somewhere. Has a family of her own now and is doing fine, as far as I know."

Rosie took another bite and seemed to think on this information. This, coupled with the fact that she had brought up his former relationships, gave Marcus the inspiration and the moment he needed to broach a topic that he had been wondering all day how to bring up.

"Hey," he started, putting his whiskey glass down and leaning back in his chair. Rosie looked up at him. "I was told by my friend today that, apparently the continental states have their shit together so well, that they've manufactured submarines that can cruise right past the Fog without them knowing. Yeah! I'm amazed myself. They plan on starting to evacuate Hawaii sometime in the next couple months. I asked my friend if I can get some of the people I know on the first sub out and I was wondering if you would want that? You said you don't have any family or friends, so I think, honestly, you should really consider it."

Rosie's eyes widened for moment, before she took a few slow breaths, likely thinking of how to respond. "Well, it's for people you know, right? You don't really know me."

Marcus laughed. "I know you better than I do most people on Oahu, trust me. Plus, even if I had never met you and simply asked them to put you on that first trip, they would, no questions asked."

"Aren't you leaving? Surely they asked you?" Rosie tilted her head.

"Ordered, more like," Marcus confirmed. "But thankfully I persuaded them otherwise. I'm not going anywhere."

"Why not?"

"Why does everyone ask why I want to stay here?" Marcus asked exasperatedly to no one in particular before taking another gulp of whiskey. He noted he would need to refill the glass soon.

"Probably because they find it a little strange," Rosie answered. "I know I do."

Marcus sighed. "I guess I can understand that. But this is my home. Oahu, this house, all of it. This is where I belong."

"Why?"

"Jesus H. _Jesus_ ," Marcus muttered. "You and your _questions_... Tell you what, by sometime tomorrow I'm going to come up with a list of shit I don't want you to pester me about and I would really appreciate it if you'd respect that."

Marcus got up with his usual slow struggle and picked up his glass. "Would you like more water?"

"No, thank you. I'm almost done eating, anyway," Rosie replied softly, looking towards the Pacific.

Marcus made his way through the sliding door and to the kitchen where he refilled his tall glass to the brim with fresh ice and Jack Daniel's.

Yeah, this was certainly shaping up to be a long few days, he thought to himself, taking another large gulp and relishing the familiar, comforting burn on his throat as the whiskey made it to his stomach and began doing its job making his existence just that much more bearable.

* * *

Author's Note:

Sorry about the delay... I've just started in on chapter seventeen, and it's proving to be very difficult to write. I had issues with sixteen as well. Given the subject matter involved, I'm having a hard time getting the tone I want just right and on seventeen the dialogue (something I hadn't had any issues with before) is proving problematic. I'm hoping that with eighteen, where things are going to pick up substantially, the story will flow a little better. I have four chapters ready after I post this one and at some point I'm hoping to have five staged at all times, because that's the best way that I've found to edit them, plus it's a great way to work on detail consistency as well.  
Anyway, thanks again for all of your support and being patient with the beginning of this story, where character development on my leads is, in my opinion, the absolute most important thing. I want everyone to have a very good idea who these two are before I start throwing things at them.

Find My Way, by Nine Inch Nails


	13. Errors

Something was definitely wrong with her, Rosie realized. She supposed she should be more concerned about it, but for whatever reason she was calm enough. She had run scan after scan all day on all of her systems looking for anything remotely out of the ordinary, but to the very best of her observations and knowledge, everything was fine. In fact, the main reason she was concerned at all was because she wasn't terribly concerned about it.

The Supreme Flagship had already reassured her, after all, so whatever she must have been going through had to be normal, right? Surely, Yamato would have called off the mission had she suspected that Rosie was malfunctioning?

Still, Rosie couldn't make heads or tails of what exactly she was feeling or why she was feeling that way.

Again, there had been humans that Rosie had encountered over her ten years among them that she had grown attached to or cared about in one way or another, but with Marcus, the feeling was different. Mainly, it had occurred much faster and was already much stronger.

What exactly was so special about him?

Certainly, he was utterly fascinating. She had never before met a human who had had such a long history of conflict, combat and violence. According to Marcus, he had personally killed at least eighty people, yet seemingly remained functional day to day, alcohol notwithstanding. Could he have possibly been some sort of sociopath? He didn't seem that way to her, but Rosie had made mistakes in character judgment before.

The one thing Rosie did know, was that despite his history, she genuinely liked being around him. In fact, this was, she admitted to herself, an understatement. It was only the tail end of her first full day with him and all she wanted to do was be around him, study his behavior and ask him questions about himself.

This was, to some extent, perfectly in line with her research parameters up to this point: Find an interesting human subject and learn more. But Rosie couldn't help but suspect something ulterior, not in her programming or in the mission parameters, was going on.

Despite that, she felt her mind wandering to the fact that in far too short a time for her liking, Marcus was going to have to sleep and she was going to have to wait patiently for hours until he woke up again.

She busied herself with yet another system scan, but it of course revealed nothing amiss. She was, according to all scans, operating at maximum efficiency. Maybe this was what emotion was simply like: Being able to operate perfectly and yet still feel like there was something wrong. This was an all new feeling for Rosie.

She decided to not be too concerned with it at this time. She would, however, keep a close watch on herself and all her systems to make sure there was no deterioration.

Rosie looked up from her perch from a stool at the kitchen counter as Marcus poured her a glass of water and slid it to her. It was obvious he was unused to company merely by the amount of times he asked her if she needed anything, she thought with amusement. The irony in her case being that she never needed anything, at least in the way of what Marcus was offering. But, she was determined to play along, so when the water had been offered this time, she had accepted.

Marcus topped off his glass of whiskey and took another long sip. She was unsure how much he had drank so far this evening, as he may have been drinking at times when she was unable to observe, but just based on how much she had seen him drink, all calculations would have pointed to him being far more impaired than he currently seemed to be.

He came around the counter and grabbed the empty stool next to the one she was sitting on, bringing it into the kitchen itself so he could sit across from her, as opposed to next to her. Rosie had, of course noticed Marcus's consistent preference to not be too close to her at any time and she still had no idea why this was.

"You can sit over here, you know," she offered helpfully.

"Nah," Marcus waved her off, seemingly trying to be casual. "I can see you better from here anyway."

He plopped down on the stool, took a gulp of whiskey and leaned back a little with a sigh.

It was at this point that a plan began forming in Rosie's mind. She wondered if Marcus would be more talkative while he was heavily intoxicated. Calculating that this might very well be the case, Rosie resolved to keep this conversation going for as long as possible and not, at any time, dissuade Marcus from drinking. So, Rosie kept the conversation flowing while relaying entirely made up details about her youth and growing up on Oahu. How her parents had protected her during the Crises before the military began to intervene. How she had been lucky, compared to a lot of people, because she and her family had been a part of a small community of people who stuck together and protected one another. How she had been given, by Oahu standards, an almost normal childhood.

All lies. Every single word.

Rosie had never felt guilty about manufacturing stories about her nonexistent human past and even though she had formed seventeen such fully detailed stories (and numerous less detailed ones) over her ten years on the mainland, she had never once felt bad about any of them, or lying to anyone, until she had met Marcus.

Marcus, obviously glad to be getting details about her, proved to be a wonderful listener and ironically a very good proofreader of consistency in her stories. He asked questions that forced her to create even more intricate detail and he seemed to be memorizing everything she said to him.

This was made all the more impressive based on the fact that the bottle of whiskey was rapidly disappearing. Rosie had seen drinking (even very heavy drinking) before on numerous occasions, being, again, completely fascinated by it. Though, she couldn't recall a single time when a human she had observed had drank so much without seeming to be terribly affected by it.

She had been sexually harassed by such people more times than she cared to calculate, though Marcus was doing nothing remotely of the kind, which fascinated her more because he seemed to be very attracted to her.

It was this observation, plus the fact that the current topic of conversation was Rosie's fabricated dating history and the kind of men she was drawn to, when yet another thought (in a increasingly long line of them, it seemed) stopped being a thought and was, without Rosie meaning to in the slightest, vocalized.

"Would you sleep with me, given the choice?"

Marcus nearly choked on the sip of whiskey he was taking while Rosie instantly began blushing. She had no idea how that one had slipped out of her mouth in that manner. She had been merely trying to ask Marcus if he found her attractive, but somehow all of the power her Union Core had to offer had somehow jumbled up what she was trying to say.

Rosie couldn't even begin to guess what reaction she was going to get from this profound lapse of judgment, but the one she got was certainly unexpected. Marcus began laughing so hard, that tears began to form in his eyes.

Transfixed by this, and trying to downplay the fact that she had just dramatically misspoken, Rosie decided to press on. In for a penny, in for a pound, she figured.

"What...?" she asked, trying to make her tone sound like her question had been the most innocent thing in the world, while trying desperately to stop blushing, which she hoped Marcus hadn't noticed because of his laughing fit.

"I'm sorry," Marcus said between breaths, trying to get himself under control. "You just caught me _so_ off guard with that one."

"Well, would you?" Still trying to convince Marcus (and herself) that she was in control of herself and of what she was saying, she continued on. "You give me indications that you're attracted to me, after all. I'm just wondering."

Taking another sip of whiskey for good measure, Marcus took a deep breath and finally seemed to have himself mostly composed.

"So, is this like a hypothetical attracted to you and sleep with you question, right?" Marcus asked, suddenly trying to keep from laughing more, by the looks of it.

"Yes, I suppose." Rosie didn't know if she should feel insulted by all of this. Maybe she had misread the signs and he didn't find her attractive at all.

"Okay," Marcus said. "Yes. You're a beautiful, smart and nice girl and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't attracted to you." He shrugged. "Fair enough?"

Of course, he didn't actually answer what she had actually asked, but Rosie decided to let it go. She figured she had nonchalantly played down her error enough and was happy to let the subject drop.

She instead decided to ask Marcus something that she had wondered for a while.

"So, were you born on Oahu?" she asked. She knew of course, that he wasn't, but his history on any information network she could access hadn't made clear where exactly he _had_ come from.

"Oh, no," he said, refilling his glass again. "I was born on Lewis-McChord Joint Air Force and Army base in Washington. My Dad was stationed there when I came along. My grandfather was Air Force, too, and had a house nearby. He finished his career at Lewis-McChord and liked the area so much, he decided to settle down. Dad always said he was lucky to have been stationed there when I was born."

"Did your mother come to Oahu with you and your Dad?" Rosie knew she hadn't.

Marcus was quiet for a moment, and Rosie feared he would do the normal Marcus thing and stop talking about it, but he took a deep breath, another sip of whiskey and continued speaking.

"No. My mom took off about a year before we came here. She was just gone one day. Dad looked for her for a while, but it's like she vanished off the face of the earth."

"Did anyone ever find her?" Rosie didn't know this one.

"No," Marcus said matter-of-factly. "Never did. She probably died during the invasion or the aftermath of it, anyway."

"I'm sorry..." Rosie said, not needing to act. She almost couldn't understand the multitude of feelings that seemed to be trying to burst from her chest, but she could at least detect sadness. This particular emotion was one that she wished she wasn't so adept at feeling.

"No, it's okay," Marcus said. "Ancient history. I barely even remember her at this point, anyway."

"What about your grandfather?" Rosie asked.

"Oh," Marcus said. "Yeah, he was my dad's dad. Was an Air Force lifer just like the old man ultimately was. He died when I was two years old. I don't remember him at all. Left his house to Dad, though we ultimately wound up at Barksdale in Louisiana for a few years before he got reassigned here. Dad still owned the house the whole time; always refused to sell it."

Marcus breathed deep and smiled. "You wouldn't know it to look at me, but I come from a pretty good line of honorable men."

"Tell me about your Dad?" Rosie asked quietly. She knew full well that this one might cause Marcus to shut down completely, but it was something she really wanted to know. Plus, Marcus was so intoxicated by this point, that maybe he was willing to share.

It turned out he was. "My Dad..." Marcus said, "was the best man I've ever known. I mean, Governor Inouye's a fairly close second, God bless _that_ guy, but there was something about my Dad, about who he was and who he was to me..." Marcus trailed off.

He thought for a few moments, took another gulp of whiskey and continued. "Anyway... When I was fourteen, he came to me and said that at some point in the near future the military, all branches of it, were going to have to increase manning and he asked me if I wanted to join up. The Air Force is pretty much I'll have ever known. Literally. Grew up in three bases and for nearly two years, during the Crises, and a lot of the aftermath I never left Pearl Harbor-Hickam. So, the choice was obvious to me. Not to mention I had grown up hearing stories about my grandfather and I got to see firsthand who my Dad was. I wanted to be just like them. Plus, at that time, all I wanted to do was set Oahu, and all of Hawaii, straight. I saw what people like my Dad were doing for everyone here and I wanted to be a part of that. So, he asked me if I was sure and after I convinced him I was, he began training me personally on all the things I would need to know and do to be a good Airman. He also began working me and man, was _that_ guy a tough coach. I was never in better shape in my life than during my abbreviated career."

Marcus trailed off, smiling a little.

Rosie waited for a few moments in silence, before prompting him again. "What happened to him?"

Marcus answered faster and more flatly than she could have guessed he would have. "He was killed in the Battle of Honolulu nearly four years back. Guy refused to leave his position. He and most everyone who held that line died. Though, they _did_ hold it."

Rosie must have looked confused without knowing it, because Marcus began to elaborate.

"Towards the end of the main attack, the Column decided to hit our position, lucky us, in force. My Dad told me, ordered me really, to lead the evacuation of any wounded, nonessential or noncombat personnel. I thought he picked me because I was reliable. Turns out he picked me because he knew what was about to happen."

Marcus's gaze drifted away. "He died so I wouldn't. Though, ungrateful fuck that I am, I almost died, anyway."

"What happened to you?" Rosie was so entranced that she once again spoke without thinking. The results were as she would have calculated.

"Nope," Marcus shook his head. "Anyway, my Dad and his small group held. The attack was repulsed and, after another few months, the fucking Column was finally gone."

Marcus finished his glass, seemed to consider pouring another for a moment before checking his watch. "Woah. Getting a little late. Or early, depending on your point of view... Aren't you tired?"

Rosie decided that this was about all the useful information she was going to get out of him tonight and it was best to not press her luck.

"I guess I am a little," she rubbed her eyes for effect. "I was just so interested in your stories."

"That makes one of us," Marcus laughed a little as he rinsed his glass out in the sink and placed on on a dish rack to dry. "I'm actually pretty boring."

Rosie smiled as she tried unsuccessfully to suppress a giggle. "You _keep_ saying that but I don't believe you at all."

Marcus returned her smile. "Your loss."

The next ten minutes passed by without much in the way of anything important said. It was mostly discussing the rough plan for the next day. Rosie decided to head upstairs shortly after.

Crawling into Marcus's bed, she again repeated the situation of listening to him move about downstairs for a little over fifteen minutes before leaving the house and not returning.

She decided to only wait an hour this time instead of two; she knew he wasn't coming back inside. But tonight would be different in another way. She already missed him. She had the uncontrollable urge to just _see_ him again, even if she couldn't talk to him. An hour was an eternity for a quantum computer, after all and this urge was so powerful yet strange that Rosie couldn't even begin to understand what exactly it was. She just had to see him.

She had to.

So, repeating the process of last night, Rosie found herself heading down the stairs, deactivating the house's security system and finding her way to the garage where Marcus was no doubt asleep under his truck.

Given that she was wearing actual clothing (a casual pair of shorts and a T-shirt that worked wonderfully as pajamas) Rosie had left her clothing neatly folded next to her Union Core (which was again encased in a nanomaterial rock) and she reassembled her mental model in the garage entirely naked. She briefly considered remaking her dress, but that (and the nanomaterial that composed it) were sitting in Marcus's bedroom and she hadn't considered bringing them and decided not to summon the nanomaterial from here.

She could always utilize a little of her mental model's mass to make a new one, but what difference would it make if she was naked, anyway? She wasn't cold and she wasn't planning on waking him up. She just wanted to be in the same room as him.

Only a little bit of the moonlight made it into the room through a barred window on the side of the building, but it was enough to reflect off her pale skin and make her look a little like a ghost, she thought.

She sat next to the truck, as close to Marcus as she could and folded her legs to her body, wrapping her arms around them while her hair fell into her eyes. She didn't bother waving it out of her face, as she could still see perfectly. More importantly, she could see Marcus, if only a little. He was fast asleep in the same sleeping bag as the previous night, but he had padded under it using a mat of some kind. His cane lay beside him and Rosie knew he was armed with his small pistol. It looked to Rosie that Marcus was settling down here for the long haul.

She hugged herself tighter as she thought for the millionth time in the last two days about what exactly was happening to her. The burning sensation in her chest had lessened somewhat now that she was next to him, but it wasn't gone entirely. Now, all she wanted was to talk to him again, though she was able to resist the urge to wake him up (she was naked after all and she'd have a lot of explaining to do on just how she had gotten to him in the first place).

He was causing this, she realized. All of it. Whatever unidentifiable errors her Union Core was experiencing, she was looking at the cause of them.

Rosie had never been scared before; not truly. She had pretended to be on a few occasions, depending on if the situation had demanded that sort of reaction from a small human girl, but she had never actually been afraid before.

She was now. But, even more concerning was the fact that despite this, all she wanted to do was be around the very source that was causing these emotions in her. Rosie dearly hoped that the Supreme Flagship's trust wasn't misplaced. She also hoped that when she ultimately figured out what was going on, it would be very useful information for Yamato.

But right now, Rosie was content to listen to Marcus's calm breathing.

Though, that only lasted for a few more moments. Marcus began moving slightly and for a split second Rosie was afraid he would wake up. She had only seen humans having nightmares on a few occasions, but she had observed enough to know when it was happening. Marcus continued moving, ever so slightly, as his breathing rate increased and he made slight murmuring noises that Rosie couldn't identify as words in any language she knew.

This continued for nearly forty agonizing minutes (while Rosie somehow managed to resist the urge to wake him up), before once again, Marcus fell quiet and his breathing evened out. Rosie wondered desperately what his nightmare had been about.

It occurred to her that Marcus maybe had just as many errors as she herself seemed to now. Rosie was then left to her thoughts and the reassuring sound of Marcus's calm breathing.

She sat there for a long time.

* * *

Author's Note:

Well, let me tell you, chapter eighteen was a blast to write, once inspiration struck. I think that chapter will signify the end of part one of this story after some fifty thousand plus words. So, if you've made it this far, rest assured that things explode in a narrative sense in seventeen and eighteen.  
Thanks again for all the support I've received for this story! And yeah, do let me know what you've thought of the story so far! Any and all feedback, compliments and criticisms are definitely super appreciated.

Broken Soldier, by The Black Angels


	14. Pieces

One of the things that Marcus was best at was board games. He'd grown up with a father who loved to play them and then had spent the better part of two years stuck on a military base with little else to do to occupy time other than play various games with other, similarly trapped people.

That being said, he had never experienced such a brutal, universal string of losses at any game (let alone _all_ of them) than what he was currently weathering.

He had always assumed that Rosie (though obviously fairly eccentric) was highly intelligent. He had discovered that this had carried over into the realm of games.

It was the fifth day since Rosie had wedged her way into his existence and several days before she had suggested gathering items from the surrounding neighborhood to make additions to his relatively sparse home.

Other than the entire library of books that Marcus had collected over the years (many of which were taking up the entirety of what had formerly been a bedroom) he had little in the way of anything else on display (other than his father's medals, in the very room they now occupied) so, trying extremely hard to be a good host, he had ultimately complied with this request.

Rosie then proceeded to have a field day collecting vases and other containers that could hold flowers before scouring the entire square mile around his residence for as many flowers as she could find to put in them. The vases were now all over the house, with one occupying just about every flat surface that could support one.

Additionally, she had suggested gathering as many games as they could to help them pass the time, subtly insisting that she wanted to spend time with him. Even still, Marcus had already set Rosie up with one of his favorite novels (which was huge) and she was, to his knowledge, chipping away at that during her time when she wasn't with him.

But, as it turned out, the girl was insanely good at games. Scrabble, Risk, Stratego, Battleship and any other games that involved anything other than pure luck she was utterly dominant at. She was also exceptional at all card games they had played. Marcus hadn't, for instance, won a single hand of poker against her (the girl was entirely unreadable; she possessed the perfect poker face).

In fact, the only game where Marcus had so far managed to hold his own was the current one: Monopoly. Luck had, thankfully, been on his side up to this point and he and Rosie were pretty much at a dead tie in terms of amount of currency and amount of properties owned. Against her being even, at this point, was a victory in his book.

Things had pretty much remained status quo at his place, which was pretty impressive given that he had never had a guest over for one night, nevertheless nearly a week. The fact that it was an exceptionally smart, incredibly pretty girl should have only added to the odds that something catastrophic would happen, but so far, thankfully, nothing had.

She was polite, unobtrusive (well, except when she wanted to know something about him, anyway) and she didn't seem to have any attraction to him whatsoever, which made it very, very easy for Marcus to keep a safe distance from her.

Despite this, he had slept every single night in his garage under his truck, just to be safe. He had padded under his sleeping bag with a sleeping pad he had owned forever and had added several additional blankets to the increasingly comfortable makeshift bed he had created. He was thankful that his truck was fairly high off the ground, otherwise with the amount of bedding he had added, he might have been perilously close to not being able to fit under it anymore. Of course, he had to break this setup down every single morning on the off chance that they would drive to somewhere in the neighborhood, but given the lockdown, Marcus's hadn't recommended it and so far they hadn't. Still, it never hurt to be cautious. He'd have a hard time explaining a bed under his truck if Rosie happened to spot it.

The nightmares had remained somewhat consistent, though he _had_ been drinking even more than normal of late, not only in order to keep himself somewhat calm around his houseguest, but also to help him sleep in the unfamiliar (though increasingly more familiar) location that he had been. At least one of them hadn't woke him up yet. Those nights were the worst.

What was most interesting to Marcus about his drinking was that Rosie hadn't mentioned it to him a single time. He wasn't in the slightest trying to hide it (because not only was hiding who he was simply not his style, but he also didn't want to lie to this girl [he wanted her to know _exactly_ who he was]) and given her intellect and obviously strong powers of observation, she _had_ to know what was going on. It was possible she was just too polite to say anything but it was equally likely that she simply didn't care.

Either way, it wouldn't be too long now before she would be out of his life permanently. He had wondered more than a few times over the last few days if, by the end of all of this, Rosie would want to become friends and remain in contact. Marcus dreaded the moment before he finally drove her home where he would tell her that that wasn't going to be the case.

He had no intention whatsoever of dragging this sweet, oddball of a girl into the thresher of his life. He never intended on hurting another one, like the one he had before.

Though, hopefully, she wouldn't want to have anything to do with him once she was gone. Marcus wished for this scenario; it would definitely be the best and easiest one for everyone involved.

The lockdown of the Oahu was still on, as far as Marcus knew. Standard procedure, as it had been written, was five days. Meaning, he would assemble his phone a little later and make a call to Pearl Harbor-Hickam to see if that lockdown would be extended.

Personally, he figured it would be, by at least a few days. Just to make sure the Fog ship (a replica of a large American carrier, as it turned out; he had seen it circle around his part of Oahu two days back, but it was too far away to tell if the Fog avatar rumor was true) wasn't going to bizarrely assault any land based targets.

Of course, the small trading system between the Hawaiian islands had obviously been completely shut down. Oahu was mostly self-sustaining by this point, but Marcus still wondered how an extended blockade was going to affect everyone. It was doubtful an SSTO could land while the ship was patrolling about, so Oahu (and all of the Hawaiian islands) was once again on its own.

Marcus had at least a year's worth of canned food, MREs and potable water stockpiled, not to mention months worth of cigarettes and whiskey, so even if nothing else came from the mainland for a while, he figured he wasn't going to be _too_ affected by it.

Not to mention that once the lockdown was lifted, he would likely get his now overdue bimonthly supply run. He was going to be fine; even if he had his guest for another few days.

It was after dinner and the sun had just about set. Marcus and Rosie were sitting around his kitchen table playing Monopoly, when the game took a sudden, entirely unpredicted shift in Marcus's favor.

Rosie landed on Boardwalk which contained a recently installed hotel. Despite the two thousand dollar cost, it only paired her finances by around half. She had plenty of properties and monopolies of her own, so the game could very well swing back in her favor in just a turn or two, but for now Marcus was content to be the currently winning player for once.

"Marcus?" she asked, after handing him the game money she owed him. "Those are your Dad's medals, right?"

She gestured towards the wall, where the framed, highly organized display contained his father's name tape and Chief Master Sergeant stripes from his uniform and his medals, among other things, with his Medal of Honor most prominently featured.

"Yeah, it certainly is," Marcus nodded, rolling the dice, getting a seven and advancing his cannon piece to what was thankfully a property he owned. "He had quite the career."

Rosie collected the dice, rolled them and advanced her piece, the battleship, four spaces to Baltic Avenue, which he also owned. She withdrew her two hundred dollars from the bank (she was the banker, he was the property manager) and handed him four dollars for rent.

"So," she began. "Do _you_ have any medals?"

Marcus laughed. This girl had some of the strangest questions. He wondered if this was another one of her segue attempts to get him to talk about his combat experiences (there had been _plenty_ of those attempts the last few days) but he figuratively rolled the dice and figured it was safe to answer this one.

"Yeah," he shrugged. "I have a few."

"Where are they?"

"Oh, in a box in my garage somewhere, I think."

"Why's that? Why aren't yours in _here_?"

"Because my Dad's accomplishments are a little more noteworthy than my own and are things that I'm extremely proud of."

"You're not proud of what _you_ accomplished?"

"Okay..." Marcus sighed. "Add this to the list. I don't want to talk about it."

Marcus had indeed composed a small list of things he didn't want Rosie to ask about. One of them was why he chose to live on Iroquois Point, but most of them had to do with his military service. He wasn't interested in the slightest talking about any of it and one could add his lack of displaying his own awards and decorations to that list.

Rosie frowned and looked hurt, an expression Marcus had seen more than a few times when he refused to talk about something she wanted to know.

"It's kind of a long list now," she muttered dejectedly.

"Yeah, well, there's a much longer list of things I _am_ willing to talk about, such as I might actually beat you at this game and win _something_ for once."

Rosie just smiled. "Oh, I don't know. I'm just getting warmed up."

Turned out, she was right.

It took a couple more hours, but Rosie ultimately pulled off a solid victory. Marcus's luck, as was pretty usual, had run out eventually.

It was now after ten and Rosie stated that she would he heading to his room (though he legitimately considered it her room by this point) and would read for a few minutes before going to bed. Grabbing the huge novel he had recommended from her favorite perch in the living room, Rosie wished him a good night and proceeded upstairs.

Marcus, behind schedule on his drinking, filled a tall glass full of ice and whiskey, spent the next three minutes draining it and refilling it before heading to deck, plopping down in his chair, assembling his phone and calling the Security Forces dispatch room (which was operational at all times). He spoke to a Senior Airman, who informed him (no surprise) that despite the fact that the Fog ship hadn't in any way attacked anything, that the lockdown would continue for three more days before normal island traffic (minus anything nautical related) would resume. He also assured Marcus that his supplies would be delivered the moment that the lockdown was lifted; the only vehicles, of course, that weren't affected by said lockdown being security patrols.

Marcus sighed as he hung up and disassembled his phone, putting all of the parts back in their zippered pouch and storing in in its pocket on his cargo shorts. He lit up a cigarette, took a deep drag off of it and chased that with a sizable gulp of whiskey as he listened to the calming sound of the waves of the Pacific crashing lazily on the shore.

It was a warm night with almost no breeze and Marcus closed his eyes in order to better enjoy it. He was, by this time, satisfactorily caught up on how intoxicated he should be. By the time he finished his current drink, it'd be just about time for bed.

Twenty minutes later, Marcus brushed his teeth in the small bathroom downstairs (he had long since moved all his toiletries from his, the master bedroom, to here) and he headed to the garage, drunk enough for his liking, to sleep.

* * *

It had been a bad one.

Marcus blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to gather enough light to see clearly. By this point, he knew where he was and knew that he was okay, but that only lessened the impact ever so slightly.

He had just dreamt of being in combat, though the exact details remained indistinct to him, as they often did. All that he really knew was he had taken a bullet to the face and had woken up instantly.

It was plainly obvious to Marcus that for the rest of the night (as it was for any nights where he had woken up like this) that sleep was going to entirely elude him.

Having only slept two hours, according to his watch, Marcus went right back to doing what he was doing before he went to sleep in the first place.

After heading back to the house and pouring himself another drink, Marcus found himself back on his deck and he proceeded to spend the next three hours drinking and smoking the night away.

At least looking forward to the sunrise almost made this all worth the trouble.

* * *

Author's Note:

This is now the longest Arpeggio of Blue Steel story on this site! Thanks so much to all of you readers who have supported it! It looks like it's going to be quite a bit longer, ultimately.

Black Cloud, by Brad Carter


	15. Follow

Things had, by now, spiraled dramatically out of control for Rosie.

With each passing day her feelings about Marcus, strange to her as they were, grew exponentially more powerful. It was to the point now that she feared, if it got any worse, she would actually begin feeling physical pain that reflected her emotional anguish.

She had composed countless theories (alongside literally millions of self scans of her system) trying to identify the issue he was causing and perhaps even how exactly he was causing it, but it wasn't until the day before where a new thought occurred to, one that had been so inconceivable that she had never even considered it before now.

One of the human concepts Rosie found most fascinating was love. It was something she had observed and identified more than a few times among humans. It was such an abstract yet mystifyingly concrete (and entirely confusing) subject that Rosie had, in ten years, barely scratched the surface on what exactly it meant and she was certain she didn't have any sort of handle on it.

When she was in Portland, Oregon for a year and a half before she relocated to San Francisco, Rosie had stayed for a time in a small bed and breakfast run by an elderly couple who had been together for nearly fifty years. Love, she was certain, was evident in their case, based on how they interacted with each other. Fifty years, for humans, was an awfully long time, yet this couple still behaved in such a way that Rosie could only ascertain that their feelings for one another were just as powerful as they had ever been.

But Rosie had no way to gauge any of that accurately herself. She knew, of course, that she was becoming more like humans in terms of her emotional range (Yamato had even confirmed as much directly _to_ her) but Rosie had never thought, at any moment, that she, or any Fog vessel, would ever experience love.

She was a computer, a machine. Could the Fog even _feel_ love? Was the emotion that they could feel via their mental models merely a replication of that of humans or was it a true fact that that's what they were experiencing? If there was a difference between the two, could anyone, even they, tell the difference? What was she feeling? _Was_ she really feeling?

Rosie didn't know the answers to any of these, but as her feelings (and her pain) grew stronger, she had only become more and more determined to solve this puzzle. This determination, or perhaps stubbornness had caused a cycle over the past five days that Rosie now thought she had to break out of.

She didn't like giving up or admitting defeat on anything, but perhaps it was time to call this one quits and move on to elsewhere. She already long decided that she wasn't going to inform Yamato of any of this. Not until she had a firm grasp on what was going on and that didn't seem likely anytime soon.

In the meantime, after a final visit to a sleeping Marcus in the garage, where Rosie had spent far more time than she had thought she would, she now found herself walking along the beach of Iroquois Point, heading in the direction of Pearl Harbor. She figured, provided she stayed clear of the obvious military presence there, that she should be able to sneak into Honolulu and begin observations on the people who lived there.

Her only real problem on Oahu would be if Marcus decided to look for her, but she figured that this chance would be a slim one at best. He seemed entirely disinterested in associating with her any longer than he had to, plus he didn't seem to leave Iroquois Point often, if at all. It was also extremely doubtful, given Marcus's inclination to keep her away from the military, that he would report her absence to any of them. In essence, the only person who even knew anything about her newly constructed identity likely would never see her or have anything to do with her again. She could continue her mission entirely unencumbered by her five days spent with Marcus.

So, Rosie, wearing only her nanomaterial dress and shoes (having left everything else back at the house) began her departure from the area. Feeling her feet sink into the sand with each passing step, as the moonlight reflected off the Pacific and off her pale skin, it occurred to Rosie that maybe her mission wouldn't be entirely unencumbered after all.

With each step she took, she missed Marcus more and more. This was exactly why she needed to leave. She couldn't let this overarching, universal system error persist. She had to remove herself from its cause; she had to remove herself from _him_.

So, even knowing this, why did it feel like her Union Core was cracking?

Rosie only made it a few more steps before she felt her legs give out underneath her and she collapsed into the sand, suddenly sobbing.

Why was this happening to her? What had she done wrong? She had followed her mission perimeters down to the smallest, most finite detail and even had reassurances from the Supreme Flagship herself of all of this. Where had she gone so wrong as to now feel this way?

Gripping and squeezing fistfuls of sand, Rosie cried harder than she ever had. She was thankful that she didn't need to breath, otherwise it would have likely been very difficult to have done so.

It took her nearly ten minutes, an eternity, to regain even partial control of herself. She forced herself to breath in and out slowly, hoping that this human technique would interact with whatever subconscious human emotions she had developed to force the response she wanted.

She then collected all of the nanomaterial that had just left her body in the form of tears and re-assimilated it into her mental model.

Then, she altered her position to sitting, facing the Pacific while she hugged her legs tight to herself, and rested her head on her knees.

Was this love? Was this what love was like for humans? How could something that had been described to her as the most wonderful thing on so many occasions feel so utterly terrible?

She questioned everything she thought she knew on every emotion she had ever encountered. Maybe nothing she had ever studied or documented was what she had thought it was. Maybe she had gotten every observation, every detail utterly wrong.

Maybe, despite Yamato's assurances, she had somehow messed everything up.

Rosie sat there for over an hour, running through her mind every single encounter and detail she had witnessed over the last ten years, reanalyzing all of it, trying to pinpoint any mistakes she had made.

Ten years, tens of thousands of encounters, millions of observations.

It took over an hour for something else to occur to Rosie.

Maybe she hadn't made any mistakes after all.

Maybe she truly had blurred the lines between the Fog and humanity. Maybe her experiences truly had imbued her with genuine emotion.

Humans weren't computers, after all. They could only in the most rudimentary of ways analyze and quantify what they were feeling. Perhaps none of it _could_ be truly quantified. Maybe this was just the way it was for humans and thus the way it was for the mental models of the Fog who, according to Yamato, were trying to replicate humans down to the most finite detail.

Maybe there was nothing wrong with her at all.

Rosie then thought about what Yamato had told her.

Follow her heart.

Despite being truly, overwhelmingly afraid of what might happen to her if she stayed with Marcus, she knew that that was all she wanted to do.

She could even make the excuse that she was continuing the mission, because she would still be studying the human that had had, by far, the most profound impact on her.

Rosie decided that this must have been what Yamato had meant. She then decided then that she would stay here, with Marcus, at least for a little while longer to see if her condition improved or declined.

Getting to her feet and wobbling a little as they sunk in the sand, Rosie turned and began heading back towards the house she had grown to know so well.

Despite being afraid, the pain that seemed to be emanating from her Union Core lessened a little at the thought of seeing Marcus again.

She didn't know what would happen, least of all to her, but she supposed she would find out given enough time.

Deciding that she would resume her nightly visits sitting next to a sleeping Marcus, Rosie reentered his property and was near the garage before she realized that he wasn't there.

Slightly alarmed, she extended her sensors and for a few unnerving moments she didn't know where he was until she picked up a human heat signature located on his back deck. She calculated that it would be best if she extended her scans to cover the whole property at all times from here on out.

For a moment she wondered if he had discovered her absence, but realized that if he had by this point he would likely be out looking for her.

Either way, it was best to be as quiet as possible.

Remotely hacking the household security system, Rosie entered the abode as silently as she could and began to make her way up the stairs before she stopped in her tracks and suddenly found herself moving back down them and towards the back deck.

If he was having problems sleeping, maybe she was, too.

Plus, all she wanted to do was see him.

She opened the sliding door, hoping not to surprise him but she unfortunately did just that.

Lurching to his feet, cigarette clinched between his teeth, Marcus pulled the pistol from inside his belt and whirled on her nearly pointing the weapon at her before he realized it was her.

His inebriated eyes, somehow still as sharp and observant as ever, softened with relief. "Good fucking God, I'm _sorry._ " he said, exhaling deeply. "You scared the _hell_ out of me."

"No," she stuttered. " _I'm_ sorry. I didn't mean to startle you..."

He sighed, returned the pistol to its holster and sat back down, motioning for her to join him in the second chair which had become hers by default during her stay.

"Please, sit," he offered. "You couldn't sleep either, huh?"

"No," she said, not exactly lying. "I have a lot on my mind, I guess."

"Yeah," he nodded. "Me too."

Sitting, Rosie brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "What's wrong?"

"Nightmares," Marcus muttered back, tossing his finished cigarette. "It's okay. This happens about once or twice a week; I'm totally used to it."

"I don't suppose you'll tell me what your nightmares were about, will you?" Rosie asked softly.

"No ma'am," he shook his head. "You can add nightmares to the list."

"Okay..."

Rosie looked out to the Pacific and the fading moonlight that reflected off of it. The sun would be coming up in just about an hour, she estimated; it was already getting brighter.

Her thoughts then turned to the the current Oahu lockdown and how, regardless of if it lasted another few days or even a week, that she fully predicted Marcus, the moment the lockdown was lifted, would insist on taking her to her supposed home.

She had no intention of letting that happen. She calculated she would need at least more than a week of further observations to even begin scratching the surface on how he was affecting her. So, she decided to deploy the cover story for why exactly she was here.

"Marcus..." she said. "Do you want to know why I came to Iroquois Point?"

He looked over at her. "Sure, if you want to share."

"I..." she said, trying to inflect this all perfectly, but suddenly realizing she could channel how she was feeling into what she was saying and somehow, on some level, it was emotionally true. "I don't have anyone. I'm alone. I came here because somehow I thought if I did, I wouldn't ever have to go back to my life. Back to the emptiness..."

"What are you saying...?" Marcus sounded incredibly concerned.

"I don't know, exactly," Rosie suddenly found herself crying again. It wasn't an act. "I don't know what's wrong with me..."

Embarrassed to be showing such emotion in front of him, she buried her face in her hands and tried, incredibly unsuccessfully to hide it.

"There's _nothing_ wrong with you," Marcus said, sounding surprised. "I mean yeah, you're a little weird, but that's not exactly a bad thing, or anything."

She found herself smiling a little through her tears, but naturally he couldn't see this.

"I think you're lovely," Marcus continued. "And we've had some fun out here, haven't we? If I didn't think you were at least _kind_ of okay do you think I'd be having such a passably amusing time?"

Rosie couldn't help herself; she giggled a little at that, though given that she was crying it sounded more like a hiccup. Leave it to Marcus and his incredibly dry humor to cheer her up a little.

"I guess so..." she said, after a few moments.

"Exactly right," Marcus smiled and leaned back, turning his eyes towards the Pacific.

It was time.

"Marcus?" she asked, drying her eyes with the back of her hand, "Do you think... Do you think that maybe I could stay here for a little while, even after the lockdown is over?"

He turned back to her and met her tear stained, red eyes with his. She didn't have to pretend or act. She knew she looked miserable and helpless.

"I mean..." she continued. "This is the best I've felt in... I don't even know how long. Being around you..."

"If this is the best you've felt in a long time, I don't know. You're a mess!" Marcus smiled a little before he trailed off for a moment. "I strongly recommend against it. Despite what you might think, I'm not really great with people. I mean, a few days might be fine and all that, but any longer and I just don't know."

"I don't care what you think," she said firmly. "This is what I want. I want to stay."

Marcus sighed. "Tell you what... Lockdown's still on for three more days. I'm currently drunk as hell and not running on much sleep. Can I think about it for a couple days and get back to you? Is that acceptable?"

Rosie thought for a while. This was likely the best she would get for now. She would gamble that she would be affable enough for the next couple of days (as she had been the entire time, she thought) that maybe it would be all the convincing Marcus would need.

"All right," she said. "Just don't take _too_ long. Please...?"

"I'll do my best. If you change your mind, do let me know."

"I won't." Rosie couldn't predict the future, but she knew that much. A day or two wasn't going to change how she felt about this.

So, sitting in silence for a long while, Rosie and Marcus watched the sunrise from maybe the best vantage point in the entire world.

* * *

Author's Note:

Well, I've finally started Film School. And the schedule and course load looks like it's going to take a toll on the amount of writing time I have. That being said, I'm planning on working pretty much solely on this story (as I have been) using any available free time, but instead of being updated every three or four days, it may be moved to a five to seven days schedule. I guess we'll see.

Deep Water, by Portishead


	16. Line

It now looked to Marcus that he might just be stuck with this girl for a little while.

He couldn't even believe he was considering allowing her to stay after the lockdown was lifted, but yet he was. Even though, by this point (nearly three in the afternoon) he had definitely sobered up, but that didn't seem to matter.

Rosie was contentedly reading in the living room while Marcus did his daily check of all of the rooms of the house to make sure everything was where it needed to be. He fully realized how strange this consistent pattern of behavior might look to his guest, but this was who he was and he wasn't about to change or try to hide it.

He checked the upstairs bedroom that was serving as the library and marveled again on just how many books he had accumulated from the houses of Iroquois Point. He wasn't sure what was more impressive; the fact that he had collected them all or the fact that he had nearly read all of them. Of course, he hadn't done nearly as much reading of late as he usually did. Having a guest around had eaten quite a bit into his alone time.

And now he was giving serious thought to allowing this girl to stay. From the sounds of it, she was a lot like him in many respects. She didn't have (according to her) a family or any friends and she seemed entirely disinterested, for whatever reason, of leaving Oahu.

Plus, things hadn't gotten too strange (even though seeing her cry unnerved Marcus more than he cared to admit), so maybe if everything remained as it was, her presence wouldn't be too detrimental to him.

The truly important factor to consider would be if she would ultimately be fine being around _him_ for an extended period of time. This was the thing that he wasn't in the least sure of and it honestly probably wouldn't be the best idea to find out.

Marcus checked the two entirely empty upstairs bedrooms and considered that she could stay in either one, provided he could find a bed for her to do so.

He knew that he could ask any number of Air Force personnel on patrols to help him for an hour or two to gather the furniture (he _did_ still want that table from the other day) and they would jump at the chance to help him. Practically speaking, there was more than enough room in this large house for more than one person.

Making his way to his (now Rosie's) bedroom, Marcus checked the closet where he kept the majority of his firearms and ammunition for his daily inspection of them.

It didn't seem to him that Rosie had discovered them, or even rooted through his closet at all and Marcus had purposely not mentioned their existence to her.

Picking up the old M4 carbine (most of his weapons were older) Marcus inspected it and the large, one hundred round quad stacked magazine that was loaded in the weapon. Then, he checked the Glock 17 that was holstered on the chest of a a body armored vest. Finally, he looked over at the most recently manufactured firearm, the .338 Lapua Magnum bolt action sniper rifle that had been his primary weapon for the entire duration of The Fifth Column War and the weapon he had killed the most people with.

Marcus was thankful that the Air Force had let him keep the rifle and had allowed him to take the M4, the Mossberg 500 and the Glock 17. The latter three being very old weapons had probably helped his case when he'd requested them.

He was most thankful that they had allowed him to keep the PPK/S, which was essentially part of him by this point.

Marcus returned all of the weapons to their designated spots in the closet and then made his way to his bed which he noted was immaculately made.

He sat down and instantly realized how tired he was, having slept barely two hours the previous night. He had completely forgotten how comfortable this bed was.

Being careful to not disturb how well the bed was made, Marcus laid down and closed his eyes. He decided that it would be okay if he rested here for a moment; Rosie was downstairs, after all.

A few minutes should have been fine.

* * *

It had been over an hour since Rosie had heard Marcus move and she could only ascertain that he had fallen asleep.

She had been sitting in the living room pretending to read for the first twenty or so minutes of that (in truth she had long since finished this book [and about three quarters of all the books she had found in Marcus's house, reading them quickly whenever he was doing something else]) but blending in was what she was best at.

So now she did what she had been more and more inclined to do since she had been here. She decided to go and see if Marcus was sleeping well. She laid the book on the couch and headed upstairs to the room she had been staying in and she found Marcus exactly where she thought he had been doing exactly what she thought he was.

He was curled up on his side on the far point of the bed facing away from her and towards the second floor deck, his cane sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, where it looked like it had fallen.

She slowly made her way around the bed in order to see his face and the moment she did she knew, from the multitude of hours of seeing exactly this, that he was having a nightmare. It didn't seem like a bad one; he wasn't making any noise and he was perfectly still, but Rosie could tell exactly what was happening.

She suddenly felt the pain in her chest that she had become so accustomed to of late. Marcus, to whatever degree, was hurting. And it absolutely devastated her to see.

Something then snapped in Rosie. Without even thinking about it, she moved back to the free side of the bed and laid down next to him. She didn't consider the consequences of what she was about to do; in fact she hardly considered anything at all.

All she knew was that she had seen far too much of this to continue sitting by and doing nothing. It wasn't logical but it wasn't even really a choice for her.

She observed herself with just as much interest now as she had ever observed Marcus. This was all automatic; completely so. She accepted that this was what was happening.

Rosie followed her heart.

In the five days she had known him, Rosie had never made any sort of physical contact with Marcus. It had occurred to her that it was likely entirely unwanted by him and he had seemingly gone out of his way to avoid any sort of contact with her.

She didn't at all know what to expect.

Delicately, she placed her right hand on his right shoulder and wrapped her left arm around his chest, bringing her body into perfect, complete contact with his. She again marveled for a moment at how much bigger than her he was, something that was incredibly obvious given their current proximity to each other. He was over twice her size, easily.

She held him. All she wanted was to convey to him, even if he was asleep, that he wasn't alone; that he didn't have to be afraid; that she was here.

What surprised her, what she couldn't have expected, was what this contact with him did to _her_.

Suddenly, she felt calm, completely serene. The pain in her chest was gone as quickly and mysteriously as it had always seemed to appear. For a brief moment, everything in existence made perfect sense to her; this was what she wanted. This was _exactly_ what she wanted.

Rosie knew that she should be afraid; that this, what was happening to her, was utterly extreme and something she couldn't even begin to quantify. It was very nearly in the realm of what should have been impossible.

But in that moment, she didn't care.

Right here, right now, she didn't care in the slightest what this would mean for the future or what it might ultimately mean for her.

For this one moment in an eternity of time, she was happy.

Closing her eyes, Rosie held Marcus as tightly as she dared to without hurting him or waking him up. She felt his body automatically react to her touch, to the warmth of her mental model. He seemed, subconsciously, to be as content with this as she was.

Rosie didn't know why she felt this way. She had no idea why Marcus, why _this_ particular human out of the countless ones she had encountered, was having this effect on her. At that moment, all she was sure of was her own serenity and contentment.

It only lasted thirty-seven seconds.

Marcus awoke with a start and he whirled around, quickly pinning Rosie to the bed and roughly wrapping his left hand around her small throat.

She wasn't in any danger at all, of course and she was far too surprised and interested in what exactly was happening to even pretend to be afraid. She didn't struggle in any way, fearful that she might hurt _him_ if she moved too quickly without thinking. Instead, she merely observed with fascination what was happening.

The Marcus she was seeing wasn't the Marcus she knew.

Squeezing her throat as tightly as he seemed able to, Marcus raised his right hand and made a fist, ready to strike her. His eyes blazed with a grim determination the like Rosie had never seen before in anyone.

He almost hit her, before his eyes flashed with a sudden realization and he launched himself off her and off the bed entirely, landing with a dull thud on the floor.

Quickly, he was on his feet, a look of pure horror affixed to his features.

All Rosie could do was stare blankly, unsure of what exactly was happening and even less certain of what to say.

Marcus, similarly, seemed to have a difficult time finding words as he buried his face in his hands and paced in his limping gait back and forth for a few moments, before turning to stare at her and look her up and down, seeing if he had hurt her.

After studying her for a few moments, he raised his hand and pointed at at her.

"Stay right there," he pleaded, looking frightened, which was something she hadn't seen from him before. " _Please_..."

And with that, he limped out of the room and loudly trudged down the stairs.

He had forgotten his cane.

* * *

It had happened again.

The exact thing Marcus had tried so hard to avoid had transpired.

He should have warned her. He should have told her not to be near him. He should have told her more firmly that he was dangerous. He just simply didn't know how to broach this particular subject.

He had been having a nightmare about being attacked and pinned down and had woken up to her wrapped around him. For those few moments, he didn't know he was awake or where he was. All he knew was he was about to die and he needed to defend himself.

What had she been thinking, doing that?

What had _he_ been thinking by even considering that she could stay here with him?

Completely ignoring the pain in his back and leg, Marcus entered his kitchen, found the nearest bottle of whiskey and drained what was left in it; nearly a third of the bottle. He then spiked the empty bottle to the floor and made his way to his garage to collect the sledgehammer he kept there and then proceeded to the house next door, somewhere where he had spent a good amount of time, though he hadn't been there in quite a while.

He hadn't needed to.

But now he did.

He trudged into the first room that he hadn't already demolished in days past, which looked like it had been an office at one time or another.

Without a single flourish or a wasted moment, Marcus began systematically destroying the room. The computer and desk that made up the centerpiece were the first to go; he thoroughly demolished them, the chronic, ever encroaching pain in his back and leg forgotten about in his rage and rush of adrenaline.

Next, he attacked any other furniture in the room, which included shelves and several chairs.

He was sweating now and the exertion only accelerated the effect that the alcohol was having on him.

It had happened again; the one thing he wanted to prevent. He had hurt her and it could have even been far worse.

Sinking the sledgehammer into the first wall, Marcus began obliterating it, hitting it again and again; drywall flew around him like a grenade had been detonated inside the wall itself.

He had found that moment in time where he was almost nonexistent. His pain, though still present was forgotten for the time being. His rage at himself served as the channel for this. He tried desperately to not think about what had just happened, but that wasn't even a remote possibility. So instead he preoccupied himself with the only thing he could that even slightly worked.

Starting on another section of wall, Marcus quickly dismantled it. He was breathing very hard now and he knew by this point he wouldn't be able to keep going for much longer. His muscles ached and the strength of his blows was significantly decreased.

He only got in a few more swings before his legs finally gave out, due to the combination of the chronic pain and the exertion his body had just weathered.

Collapsing in a heap in the rubble he had just created and dropping the hammer, Marcus began crying, something he hadn't done in so long, he couldn't even remember the last time he had. Violent sobs wracked his body and he buried his face into his now blistered and bleeding hands.

It took him almost five minutes to gain control of himself and begin breathing somewhat normally again.

Rosie couldn't stay here; she couldn't have anything to do with him.

Tomorrow she was going home, lockdown be damned.

Painfully getting to his feet, Marcus decided to abandon the hammer for the night. He checked to make sure the PPK/S had stayed in its holster, before he began limping towards home.

He absolutely dreaded the conversation that was about to come and he even wondered if Rosie would still even be there to have it with him. He wouldn't have blamed her in the slightest if she wasn't.

Entering the house, Marcus inched up the stairs and turned the corner to his room, nearly fully convinced Rosie would be gone.

But there she was, sitting exactly where he had begged her to stay.

Marcus hadn't expected her to still be here and even if she was, he was certain she would have been looking at him in fear, or hatred, or something even remotely understandable concerning what he had just done to her. But, he was perplexed (like he often was these last few days) that she actually looked more concerned for _him_ than anything else. That didn't make any sense to him at all. Other than that, it didn't look like he had hurt her too badly, thankfully.

His throat and mouth were dry and he tried speaking a couple of times before the words actually came out.

"I guess I need to tell you a little more about me, huh...?"

* * *

Author's Note:

I got a _ton_ of reviews on the last chapter, so that really motivated me to write last night so I could update today. Thanks a ton, all of you! This chapter and the next two are really quite important to the plot of the story.

Awake, by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club


	17. Contact

"I'm so sorry..." Marcus muttered, not looking at Rosie.

The pair had moved to the downstairs living room at Marcus's insistence and Rosie noted that he had caved to her invitation to sit next to her on the couch instead of sitting in his recliner. But, even still, he was as far away from her as possible and he wasn't looking at her, instead keeping his face buried in his hands.

He was a disheveled mess; obviously somewhat drunk, his clothes were damp with sweat from the exertion he had just put himself under. It was difficult for her to tell from the distance he was at, but it sounded like he was using some sort of implement to destroy part of the next door house, the one he had assured her that there was nothing of any use in.

The fact that this was very interesting behavior was an observation that Rosie would have consciously made even just a few days ago, but now all she was thinking about was her concern for him.

"It's fine," Rosie said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible.

"But it's not," Marcus looked up at her. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes." Rosie massaged her throat for effect, which she had remembered to contuse slightly to replicate slight bruising. "You didn't hurt me. I think you thought you choked me harder than you actually did. I'm completely fine."

"I hope so," Marcus said, seemingly unconvinced. "It could have been a _lot_ worse."

Rosie cocked her head quizzically, wondering if this was leading up to something.

It turned out, it was.

Breathing in and out deeply, Marcus looked down at the floor. "My, um, former fiance... I did this to her... I've had nightmares my whole life. They got worse after I enlisted and started seeing combat. But it was nothing uncontrollable until after the Battle of Honolulu."

Marcus sighed. "After I woke up in the hospital two weeks after the battle that's when they got incredibly bad. I didn't realize how much so, at first... Elizabeth... Liz... We had been together for nearly two years and she just wanted to be there for me. She refused to leave and was committed that I would recover and we would be fine. I had, uh, woken up and attacked her a couple of times over the next few weeks, after I was discharged from the hospital and elected to leave the Air Force. She was always able to snap me out of it before I actually hurt her. She even still refused to allow me to sleep somewhere else. But finally, there was a night where she _couldn't_ snap me out of it..."

Marcus trailed off for a long moment and Rosie was afraid she would have to prompt him further or that he wouldn't continue.

But he did.

"I nearly killed her," he said, softly. "She was in a coma for two days and in the hospital for over a week. First thing she said to me when she woke up was that we'd work it out; that we'd be okay. She didn't press charges and people knew exactly what was going on. I wasn't in any trouble, once she was able to explain it to everyone. But that was the line for me; I'd finally crossed it. So, I left her. I left everything. I took Governor Inouye up on his offer to allow me to live wherever I wanted and I chose here."

Marcus glanced at her. Tears had formed on the edges of his eyes. "And I just did the same thing to you that I did to Liz... I wanted to be more specific when I warned you about me, but I didn't know _how_ to tell you..."

The sun was setting now; the dying light of day was a warm yellow as it played across his face. Rosie was, as she often was of late, transfixed by him.

"Marcus, I..." she whispered, not able to find more words.

"I'm surprised you're even still _here_." Marcus said, glancing again at her. "I didn't think you'd stick around after that."

"I'm fine," Rosie said again, her voice cracking a little with the overflow of emotion she was feeling, many of the specifics of which were utterly indecipherable to her.

"So," Marcus continued, as if he hadn't heard her. "Tomorrow I'm taking you home. I'm going to call the Governor tonight and get his permission to violate the lockdown. Given the situation, I'm sure he'll give me a pass to do so."

"But I don't want-"

"I don't care what you want," Marcus cut her off firmly. "I should have seen this coming. I tried to keep you from it, but this is just who I am."

"I don't believe that at all!" Rosie exclaimed. "You're a good person! Despite everything that's happened to you, you still _always_ do the right thing."

"If that were the case," Marcus responded sadly, "I would have taken you home the night you got here. I don't even know _why_ I let you convince me to let you stay."

"I may know why," Rosie said, meeting his eyes with hers.

"Well, do illuminate me," Marcus sighed.

"Because you're lonely. Living out here all by yourself? Not having anything to do with anyone? Even if you don't admit it to anyone or even yourself, I think you are."

Before Marcus could begin to protest, Rosie kept speaking.

"There's nothing wrong with feeling lonely!" she said. Then, with more truth than even she realized, she added quietly, "I'm lonely, too."

"Even if I were, it doesn't matter," Marcus replied. "Out here... With everything I've done, with who I am... This is where I belong."

Moving without even realizing it for a few moments, Rosie slid across the couch until she was nearly touching him. Marcus eyed her incredibly warily and she could tell he was contemplating getting up.

"Please don't move," she whispered, begging him. "Please... Everything's fine. I'm okay. I'm not mad at you. I think I understand what's going on and what you're going through."

"I... wouldn't bet on it," Marcus muttered, trying to scoot farther down the couch, though since he had started as far to his side of it (and away from her) as possible, he didn't move much. "It's nice of you to say, but..."

Rosie raised her right hand and slowly extended it towards him. She wasn't even consciously doing anything anymore; she was allowing her body to determine her actions. At that moment she had reached a complete, calm serenity. For this moment, she didn't worry about anything and didn't think about anything save for what her subconscious was telling her it wanted. She didn't understand this feeling at all, but maybe if she followed its instruction, she ultimately would.

He flinched a little as her hand touched his cheek, but he stopped moving and she raised her other hand and brought it to his other cheek and cupped his face, gently turning his head towards her.

"What are you _doing_...?" he whispered, his eyes alight with panic.

She thought about this for a few moments, before slowly pulling him towards her and raising her chin in order to align her lips with his.

"I'm doing what I want to, apparently," she stated, smiling a little.

"This is very, _very_ bad idea."

"I don't care what you think."

His skin felt so warm on her hands and it almost felt as if small electrical pulses were radiating off of him. She had no idea the feeling she was about to have, but she looked forward to it with barely contained excitement. Her lips almost touched his and she almost began shutting down all unneeded systems in order to fully analyze and enjoy this moment, but then something entered the very edge of her currently assigned scanning range.

She froze and processed what she was reading for a quick moment.

"There are people here," she said.

"Wait, what?" Marcus asked, befuddled, looking to his front door, which was locked as it always was.

She couldn't blame him for being confused. At one moment, she was initiating physical intimacy of some sort with him and the next she was warning him of something that a human wouldn't likely be able to notice. Marcus, as fine an example of situational awareness she had ever seen among humans hadn't noticed, for instance.

But it was true; she was now detecting at least seven humans entering his property at various places.

This observation had, of course, slipped out of her mouth before she had been able to think it through properly, but there was something about these humans that had differed from the ones from the military who had been present the other day. No, these humans were trying to hide their presence to the best of their ability.

Now how was she going to tell him this without breaking her most important rule?

"Rosie, what are you talking about?" Marcus pressed, slowly and carefully removing her hands from his face.

"There are people out there," she said. "I can't tell who, exactly, but they're trying to be stealthy."

Marcus just stared at her. "Um, okay..."

The sun had just dipped behind the horizon and the world of Oahu had entered twilight. There were no lights on in the house, currently, except for the one in the kitchen and Rosie took this as a good thing.

"Rosie...?" Marcus said.

"You have to trust me," she said firmly. "You _have_ to."

Maybe her eyes perfectly conveyed the sudden urgency she was feeling, but at any rate, after a few moments of staring at her with a look of confusion, Marcus got up from the couch and he took a knee down next to it and pulled forth a long firearm from under it that Rosie hadn't known was there.

Ratcheting the action authoritatively, Marcus stood up and turned to her, holding the firearm in his right hand and his cane in his left, which he leaned on.

"Okay," he said with a growl of readiness. "I'm not about taking risks. Let's go. Quietly."

And with that he led the way upstairs, steering well clear of the kitchen and the light emanating from it. They ended up in his bedroom and Marcus set the firearm on the bed and pulled from his pocket the zippered pouch that contained the pieces of his mobile phone, which he began to assemble.

"I've been hit here before," he muttered to her as he did so, gesturing for her to take a seat on the bed, next to the firearm. "Just _don't_ touch that."

He slapped the battery into place in the phone. "Yeah, if it's a visiting patrol, they're in _no_ way following protocol, especially in a low light situation."

"Who do you think it is?" Rosie asked. Her scans now indicated that there were nine of them and they were setting up a perimeter around the house.

"I don't think it's anyone," Marcus replied, turning the phone on. "But suddenly I have a bad feeling and that's kept me alive on more than one occasion. An over abundance of caution has never steered me wrong."

By now Rosie was convinced it wasn't the military. Her calculations honed in on the thing that made the most sense to her.

Whoever they were, they were here for Marcus.

There was no way that they could have known she was of the Fog. She hadn't even gone near a human populace and even though she had lived in the middle of sprawling metropolises on a multitude of occasions, no one had ever figured out that she wasn't human.

They didn't know what she was. She wasn't part of the equation here; Marcus was.

"There are ten of them out there," she said, throwing all caution the the wind. "I don't think they're here for anything good."

Marcus just stared at her for a moment, before quickly dialing the phone number that she recognized from the key tones as the one he had called several times before during her stay.

The phone was picked up on the other end and Rosie could hear the speaker perfectly. It was a woman who sounded like she was in her late twenties.

"Hickam Field Security Forces, Sergeant Jimenez speaking."

"Sergeant Jimenez," Marcus stated. "It's Marcus Hardy."

"Senior Master Sergeant Hardy!" Jimenez exclaimed excitedly. "How are you, sir?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Hey, do you have any patrols on Iroquois Point?"

It took a moment for her to reply. "No sir, not currently."

Suddenly a different sort of fear made itself known to Rosie. She must have been projecting this perfectly with her face because when Marcus looked up at her again, he froze and studied her intently.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he said into the phone. "You'd better send a couple vehicles out here, please."

"Sir...? May I ask why?"

"What do you mean why, Jimenez? Because I just fucking _asked_ you to. _Nicely_ , I might add."

"What's the issue, sir?" Jimenez asked, obviously trying to be amicable, but still a little confused nonetheless.

"My friend thinks she saw someone on the property. Send at least two patrols out here. If it's nothing, I'll make everyone coffee and have them bring you a cup."

"But, sir-"

"I know the goddamn regulations," Marcus snapped. "In situations involving me and this location I helped _write_ them. I can ask for a patrol whenever I want for any reason I want and I don't even _have_ to explain it. Just because I've never done so without shooting people first doesn't mean I can't. Two or three vehicles, at least a dozen personnel. _Now._ "

"Yes, sir." Jimenez said, obviously relieved that if this was a mistake of some kind, she wouldn't be on the hook for it.

Marcus waited while Jimenez routed a patrol to their location over what sounded over the phone like a radio.

"Twenty minutes," she reported. "No one'e even near you; that's the best we can do."

"It'll have to work," Marcus muttered. "Let them know we may have unidentified targets here and to identify themselves clearly when they arrive. Oh, and Jimenez? This is Rosie. Rosie, this is Staff Sergeant Jimenez. She's a friend of mine. Stay on the line with her until the patrol gets here."

With that, Marcus pressed his phone into Rosie's small hands and staggered over to the closet where he opened it, revealing the cache of weapons that she had discovered during her stay, but had wisely left alone.

He had just lied to Sergeant Jimenez, Rosie realized. She hadn't seen anyone, but that was how he had phrased it.

Why would he do that?

* * *

Marcus had had this feeling on more occasions than he cared to remember.

It was the feeling of impending dread in the pit of his stomach that was all too familiar to him. And it was also almost never wrong. Something bad was about to go down.

He had been in enough combat and had seen enough shit to know when to trust his gut. Marcus briefly wondered on how this young, tiny, eccentric girl sitting on his bed making awkward attempts at small talk with someone she had never met could have possibly known if anyone was nearby.

But really, it didn't matter.

For whatever reason, her telling him this and the tone in her voice when she had, had been enough to trigger the gut feeling and Marcus was and had always a been a strong proponent of the mantra 'better safe than sorry'.

It didn't matter if she had no proof. It didn't matter if she was completely full of shit. It didn't even matter if she was insane. Rosie was seemingly convinced of what she had said and this had been enough to put Marcus directly into the combat ready mindset.

This was just the way he was programmed.

Moments after he pulled the closet door open, with Rosie hopefully distracted by Sergeant Jimenez and with his back turned to her, Marcus pulled a small silver pill case from one of his many pockets.

He popped it open revealing the small white pills he scarcely ever took, given the amount of alcohol he consumed on a regular basis.

Then, he took ten times the recommended dose of the Tramadol narcotic pain medication he had been issued to deal with particularly bad flair-ups of pain in back and left leg. He wasn't supposed to mix them with alcohol, but at the moment, he didn't really care. He was already in more pain than usual based on the fact that he had just destroyed a home office about an hour previously and he noted that he was probably dehydrated as well.

This wasn't going to be fun.

Dry swallowing the bitter pills, Marcus discreetly returned the case to his pocket.

"Marcus?" Rosie said, her voice straining a little as she tried to speak quietly.

He turned to face her and was again shocked by how genuinely frightened she seemed. If she was making this up, she was entirely convincing. Marcus had seen and experienced fear many, many times and this was the real thing. If whatever she was thinking was entirely made up, then maybe he had been right about some of his suspicions on her state of mind.

Maybe she really _was_ crazy.

But it didn't matter. Whatever was happening, whatever was causing this feeling of dread within him, was something that he simply couldn't ignore. He had long since learned that one.

"What is it?" he asked.

Covering the phone with her hand, Rosie looked at him in panic. "There are eleven of them now."

"Uh huh," Marcus said, trying to remain as nonchalant in his voice and mannerisms as possible, in an attempt to keep her calm. Of course, that would be nearly impossible given what he was about to do.

The sun had set a little while ago and there was very little light available to him, so Marcus pulled his small flashlight from his belt holster for it and set it up so it would illuminate his closet and nothing else. The curtains to the upper bedroom deck were drawn and the only light currently on in the house was in the kitchen. If there _was_ someone out there, they wouldn't have a very good idea where he and Rosie were.

Ignoring his pain, Marcus threw on his armored vest, double checking to make sure the metal plates were in place on his back and chest. Next, he pulled the Glock 17 from it's holster, ratcheted a round into the chamber and ejected the seventeen round, standard magazine, reloading it with a thirty-three round one from his closet. He returned the pistol to its holster and secured the holding strap firmly to account for the extra weight and balance difference of the larger magazine. Next, he pulled forth the M4 carbine, chambered a round from the huge one hundred round magazine and flipped the safety on, before throwing it over his shoulder, using the weapon's sling. Then, he grabbed the two hand grenades he likely wasn't supposed to have and affixed them to his vest. He glanced for a moment at his prized .338 Lapua rifle, but knew it would do him little good in a close quarters fight.

Marcus did a gear check. On the vest he had four extra thirty round magazines for the M4 and two extra seventeen round ones for the Glock. He tightened the vest and all of the gear straps on it, before limping to the bed and picking up the Mossberg 500 shotgun.

The shotgun had six shells loaded in it and six more on a side saddle mounted on the firearm's receiver, before Marcus pulled one off and loaded it into the weapon. He briefly considered grabbing more shells, but realized if he had to fire twelve shells from his shotgun, the fight was going to go on long enough where having and using the M4 would be preferable.

Rosie watched him do all this with a look of pure fear and that unnerved him more than anything, because now he wasn't certain what she was afraid of.

She may have been afraid of whomever may have been outside.

It was just as likely she was afraid of him.

* * *

Rosie had only paid the minimum amount of attention to Sergeant Jimenez; just enough to keep the conversation going.

Marcus had just picked up the firearm from on the bed next to her and checked it before putting it back down and kneeling in front of her.

"Here," he said, pulling out the small silver pistol he always carried, cocking the hammer and extending it to her.

"Marcus-"

"Have you ever fired a gun?" he asked.

"No..."

"Well, it's easy. You just point it at what you want to not be alive anymore and pull the trigger."

"I don't-"

"I don't care," he snapped pressing the pistol into her hand. "The safety's off and the hammer's back, so it's a light trigger pull. Don't even _touch_ the trigger unless you intend to fire and keep your hand and fingers below the line of the slide right here, or it'll bite the hell out of you when you do. Keep it pointed away from you at all times. And if you have to fire, be aware that it'll be loud and bright, given the lighting conditions, so try to be prepared for that and not be startled."

"Marcus..." Rosie said, trailing off. Sergeant Jimenez was on the phone, asking if they were okay, but neither her nor Marcus paid any attention to the exasperated woman.

"It's okay," Marcus said, with a small smile. "If it's nothing, it's nothing. I haven't had a good combat training exercise in forever, anyway."

"There are twelve of them now," Rosie whispered, so Sergeant Jimenez wouldn't hear her, a tear trailing down her cheek. "And they've started moving closer to the house."

"Okay," Marcus nodded, though she couldn't tell if he fully believed her or not. "If that's true, I'd better get set up. Remember, finger off the trigger unless you _have_ to fire. Don't let the slide bite you and pretty please don't shoot _me_ or anyone who looks like they're in the Air Force, all right? If it's not me or them, it's weapons free. If it's _anyone_ else, light them the fuck up."

Marcus sighed. "Now, into the closet with you."

With that, Marcus basically grabbed her and escorted her to the closet, before helping her inside. He turned the flashlight off and returned it to his belt before he began closing the door.

"Don't go!" Rosie blurted out. She was crying now; tears were streaming down both of her cheeks. "Please... Stay here..."

"If I do that and what you're telling me is true, then we've lost the initiative," Marcus replied gravely. "I _can't_ allow that to happen."

He began closing the door and it was almost shut before Rosie could find more words.

"Why are you doing this?"

Marcus froze, the closet door only open about an inch. He likely couldn't see her, but she could see him perfectly, even through the darkness and her tears.

"Because," he said simply. "It's what's right."

Then the door was closed and he was gone, leaving Rosie in the darkness with an increasingly worried sounding Sergeant Jimenez on the phone in her left hand and an armed pistol in her right. In less than a minute, an explosion sounded from below, followed by gunfire and Rosie was faced with an inescapable choice, one that she had never been confronted with before.

It would be nearly another seven minutes of utter agony before she made her choice.

This choice would be in direct violation of every order she had ever been given and every protocol she had ever followed.

But until then, for those seven eternities, Rosie was in hell.

* * *

Author's Note:

Well, it looks like Film School is going to consume my life. So, updates for this story will hopefully be every Friday, or possibly Saturday if I forget to on Friday. I should be able to crank out at least _one_ chapter a week...

I Had This Thing, by Röyksopp


	18. Warrior

Marcus had, only moments before, crouched a third of the way down the staircase (the only way to get to the upstairs of the house) to set up a firing line on the front door, when said door was splintered in and violently swung open.

The household alarm went off and it would provide the background noise for the entire following affair.

Not even yet comprehending that Rosie had been right about everything she had told him, Marcus instead automatically flipped to what he had long ago coined as his combat mode.

He raised the shotgun and pointed it at the open doorway, flanking it from the right side, which was perfect because the door was facing away from him, giving him the perfect firing angle on anyone who foolishly decided to enter his home.

Suddenly, a small object was flung through the doorway and landed a few feet inside the house. Marcus couldn't tell exactly what it was, but he had a damn good guess.

Firmly closing his eyes and laying the shotgun in his lap, Marcus covered his ears with his hands and turned away from the doorway just as the stun grenade (or flashbang grenade) went off, briefly filling the room with a impossibly massive cacophony of light and concussive sound, most of which Marcus was thankfully able to defend against.

Forcing himself to slowly count to two after the concussive force hit him, Marcus, still with his eyes closed, raised the shotgun to his shoulder and pointed it at the doorway.

He knew what was coming.

Snapping his eyes open, Marcus wasn't surprised in the slightest to see that a man dressed in black with a shotgun similar to his own had stepped into his home, followed closely by a second similarly dressed man with what appeared to be an assault rifle of indeterminate make and caliber.

They would have likely thought they had the drop on him.

They were gravely mistaken.

Not even thinking twice, Marcus fired the shotgun four times in quick succession, forcefully racking it after each shot to chamber the next shell.

The 00 buckshot that the shells contained ripped into the two men and, at such a close range, shredded them. Blood and bits of flesh rained down on the walls and ceiling around them as the two men collapsed to the floor.

One had taken much of a shell to the face and a good portion of it was gone; he was clearly done. The second had taken a shot square to the chest, but Marcus wasn't sure if he was dead yet. At any rate, it didn't seem that his attackers were wearing body armor, so, even if he had still been alive, he was out of the fight.

Racking the shotgun to chamber another shell, Marcus quickly and efficiently reloaded four of the five remaining shells from the side saddle into the shotgun.

He didn't have much time.

As he loaded the fourth shell, Marcus stood up and pulled one of the two grenades from his vest with his left hand. Ignoring most of his pain, Marcus limped down the stairs, expertly pulling the pin from the grenade with his teeth and arming it.

As he made it to the door a third man, also dressed in dark clothes stepped in, stumbling on the body and the blood slick of one of his downed comrades.

The man didn't even have time to look up before Marcus leveled the shotgun at him using just his right hand and fired directly into his face from less than two feet away.

The man's head more or less exploded.

What should have been a startlingly shocking moment was utterly lost on Marcus, as he, without wasting any time, gingerly stepped over the three bodies and calmly tossed the armed grenade out the front door, before scampering at his relatively slow top speed towards cover in the living room.

Most people may have frozen or hesitated at any point during what had just happened. Not Marcus. He had been in situations exactly like this before and it was all quite normal to him.

This was the only thing he had ever been truly exceptional at. This was what he did.

He could live all alone on Iroquois Point. He could even live on the moon. He could spent his whole life running and avoiding this incredibly simple fact about him, but it wouldn't make any difference.

This was who he was.

Entirely unfazed, he passed the kitchen, but couldn't make it to the light switch without exposing himself to the light of the room, so he simply raised the shotgun mid-stride and destroyed the chandelier style light fixture with a well placed shot, hoping dearly that none of the shards of glass it created, or any errant buckshot pellets would hit his father's medals display on the wall in the dining room next to it.

Marcus racked the shotgun again and loaded the final shell from the side saddle into it just as the grenade detonated outside. He could feel some of the fragments of it enter the house and embed into the walls near him. It didn't feel as though any of them hit him.

The other good news was that the Tramadol or his adrenaline or some combination of both had begun to alleviate his pain to some extent.

He was still much, _much_ slower than he had been in his prime and the limp in his left leg would always remain, even if he couldn't feel the pain, but at least he was somewhat mobile. He couldn't sprint, nor could he jump over furniture or other objects very well or anything like that, but at least he was still somewhat combat effective. Even still a little drunk and in pain, he was combat effective.

His calm composure was, as it had always been, his deadliest weapon.

It had been quiet for a few moments and Marcus knew he had a little bit of time before the attackers could reorganize and form a new plan, if they even did at all. Retreat was always an option and given that the attackers had themselves been ambushed on their target's home field, it wouldn't have surprised Marcus in the slightest if this had been the path they would choose.

Though, instead, Marcus gambled on his bad luck. This would prove to be the smart choice.

Given the recess in proceedings, Marcus made some quick calculations. Firstly, he had six shells remaining in the shotgun. Secondly, he had downed at least three of his attackers and there were supposedly nine more.

Though, now that the buzzing in his ears from shotgun blasts and grenades and subsided to some degree, Marcus could hear at least one man screaming in pain outside, even over the house's ongoing alarm system tone.

Maybe his grenade had tagged someone.

Marcus toppled over a shelf laded with books and crouched behind it, his back to the wall. He had a thought of what might happen now and he was correct.

No sooner had he taken cover then bullets began pouring through the windows and walls of the house. This was both a good and a bad thing.

It was good because Marcus could tell they had nothing too large in caliber (like a .50 caliber machine gun, for instance) and it also didn't seem like they had a designated machine gunner, or a belt fed suppression machine gun of any kind. Nor did it seem that they had any sort of explosives, or rocket propelled grenades. This was _very_ good news. As rounds entered into the first floor his home and ricocheted about chaotically, Marcus estimated that this group had an assortment of automatic rifles and shotguns and little else.

And it was bad because, well, any one of these random bullets might just hit him in the face at any moment.

Hiding behind the downed bookshelf (and the books it contained) as bullets whizzed very closely to him and destroyed many of his belongings and many of the vases of flowers that Rosie had collected, Marcus remained entirely still.

It was mostly dark now, but still barely bright enough for Marcus to see, his eyes having adjusted to the lack of light.

A bullet passed right by his ear and Marcus didn't so much as flinch. He subscribed fully to the belief that if a bullet had your name on it, there was nothing you could do about it. So, he calmly and steadfastly held his ground, unmoving, defended by, essentially, a stack of books.

It was amazing to consider, but he had been through worse.

He knew they couldn't keep this up for much longer. This group likely hadn't packed enough supplies for a full on war. The fact that twelve of them had shown up just to assassinate one man was, in Marcus's opinion, overkill. But then again, Marcus smirked as a bullet zipped by his foot and impacted the wall behind him, they likely hadn't expected any sort of a struggle at all and had only sent so many men as a precaution. Even still, they had likely only brought so much ammunition. They'd have to stop wasting it at some point soon.

This was a hit squad of some sort; likely terrorists. Somehow, someone had found him. Marcus wondered if this had anything to do with Rosie, but that just didn't seem likely.

Rosie.

It was the first time he had thought about her since this gunfight had started. She had known. Somehow she had known. He had even calculated how many targets were left based on information she had given him without even thinking about her, or how impossible it was for her to have done so in the first place.

He was just starting to worry if any of these stray bullets might reach her upstairs, when all of a sudden, the gunfire stopped.

Marcus turned his attention back to the present and then focused on what was to come.

The front door was to his right, though he couldn't see it from here. He doubted they would make their move from there, given that he had just lobbed a grenade out of it. If he was lucky, they thought he was still covering that door.

Something moving on the main deck caught his eyes and he slowly spun to face the deck and the sliding glass door (which miraculously hadn't been destroyed by the gunfire) that led to it.

These men were armed somewhat well, certainly, but if this behavior was any indication, they were by no means trained professionals. Marcus could safely eliminate the very unlikely scenario that the Government was trying to kill him for some reason.

The shadow slowly moved towards the door and Marcus patiently waited until he was right about to attempt to open it, before springing to his feet for stability and firing two shells directly at the figure, shattering the glass door and downing the man.

Thinking for a split second, Marcus rapidly fired the remaining four shells through what was left of the sliding door, aiming a little to the left with each subsequent shot.

The shotgun clicked empty and Marcus casually tossed it away, deftly pulling the M4 from his back and flipping the safety off. The M4 had a mounted flashlight, but Marcus decided not to turn it on just yet. He'd have to use that card as a surprise play.

No sooner had he thought this then a bright light coming from the deck was activated, blinding him. Suddenly automatic rifle fire engulfed him. He felt a shot enter his left shoulder and it may have shattered some bone. He also felt a shot impact him directly in his chest plate armor.

Flinching a little at the sudden burst of pain in his shoulder, he dropped to a crouch, raised the M4 and fired at least twenty shots out the door directly at the light. He heard a man scream and the light was dropped to the deck, rolling away and exposing two other men, who were stumbling over his deck chairs, attempting to duck out of the line of fire.

Marcus didn't let them.

Firing another thirty to forty rounds as quickly as his finger could pull the trigger, Marcus raked the men with as many shots as he could, only ceasing fire when they had stopped moving.

He was just about to form a new plan when a bullet entered his throat from his right side.

Working on pure reflex, adrenaline, whiskey and narcotic painkillers, Marcus spun to his right and fired the M4 rapidly until the rifle clicked empty.

They had come through the back door and down the hallway while he was distracted with the men on the deck. Maybe this group wasn't as clueless as he had first thought.

He couldn't tell how many people, if any, he had hit, but Marcus saw another silhouette of man not even eight feet away and he realized he had no time to reload the M4. Instead, not even giving himself time to think about it, he plunged headlong towards the figure.

He felt a bullet impact his left thigh as the man raised his weapon towards him and began firing as he did so. Marcus was on him, basically falling into him by this point, before his attacker could get a clean shot off at Marcus's torso and he pinned the man to the wall with the empty M4, leaning his full weight against the rifle. The man, to his credit, struggled to raise his own rifle to shoot Marcus, firing as he did so, but he was merely putting rounds into the floor.

Marcus, blood pouring from his three gunshot wounds, but most noticeably from his throat, scrabbled about at his chest holster for his Glock 17 as he put the full sum of his remaining strength into keeping this man pinned where he was.

The attacker, thankfully, was totally preoccupied with trying to shoot Marcus and didn't attempt to grab him or use his hands to attack.

Finally getting a grip on the blood coated Glock, Marcus pulled the pistol, shoved it into the man's face and pulled the trigger three times, before letting the body drop at his feet, near another body of a man who had been downed by his hail of M4 gunfire moments before.

Sensing someone next to him, Marcus snapped the pistol up with both hands and a young man, no older than he was, entered his sights.

The man threw down the rifle he was holding and raised his hands. "Please, no-"

Marcus fired seven shots into the man's chest, neck and head. Then had enough energy and presence of mind left to calmly put another bullet in the dead man's head and another one into the heads of each of the two other bodies around him.

With no further embellishment, Marcus unceremoniously collapsed in a heap to the floor, a pool of his blood forming around him and consciousness quickly leaving him.

He felt no pain at all by this point; the shock had set in. Marcus had been here before. But it didn't look like anyone was going to pull him out this time.

Marcus was about to get around to accepting his fate, when he heard and felt footsteps coming towards him.

One last attacker was then standing over him, a handgun raised to his head.

So this was it.

Marcus, having difficulty breathing, gurgled up some more blood which ran down his chin as he managed to smile. Blood coated his teeth, as it leaked out of his mouth. He hoped he looked ferocious; that was _exactly_ how he wanted to look as he left this existence.

He was about to try one last ditch effort of raising the Glock at the attacker, not at all expecting to make it in time, when a sudden red flash of light lit up the room and the man was flung like a rag doll four feet into the wall, before crumbling to the floor.

"You will not hurt him."

Marcus heard Rosie's voice all around him and suddenly there she was, standing between him and the man, who was attempting to get back up. Both Marcus and his attacker stared on in awe on what was between them.

Rosie's body was surrounded by three rotating circles of refracting, dark crimson light and she had hexagonally patterned energy of the same color focused in spheres around both of her clenched hands, with her right one tightly gripping his PPK/S. Her eyes bled the crimson light and on her forehead was a diamond, surrounded by paralleling and then angled away bars and four perfect triangles set around them in what looked like an emblem of some kind, the same color as the energy. Somehow, wind gusted around her and made her flowing hair whip around her face violently.

"You will leave," she said to the man, not shouting, but somehow her voice was shaking the walls.

The man looked terrified as he gazed at the impossible happening before him.

It looked like the man was about to manage to stand up when, with the last of his strength and with darkness inevitably closing in around him, Marcus put a bullet right through the man's nose.

Rosie turned her attention to Marcus, the light fading rapidly from around her, but he could see her face perfectly for that split second.

It was a look of pure fear, concern and something else.

In that moment, something happened to Marcus that he couldn't even begin to explain.

And then the next moment he was gone.

* * *

Off the coast of Oahu, Cora was already, after only five days, profoundly bored. She was in the process of following her orders and circling Oahu while taking in as many observations as she could.

Naturally, the humans had overreacted to her presence and there wasn't much in the way of movement around the island. Cora hoped that that would change soon. She imagined Missouri would be quite upset if all of her observations on the humans of the Hawaiian islands was just them hiding in their run down homes.

The brunette girl in the fancy black dress with white trim, scanned the darkened island intently, trying to stave off the boredom by throwing herself fully into her work, even though she hated every moment of it.

Even with fully detesting it, doing _something_ was better than nothing.

The sun had been down for nearly a half an hour now and Cora had quickly adjusted her optical scanners to handle the lack of light.

Suddenly, something she would have never predicted pinged on her scanners.

It was Wave Force Armor, otherwise known as a Klein Field.

Startled, Cora gazed off to her left, back the way she had come. It was a small Klein Field, it was at least fifteen miles away across the island and it had only lasted a few moments but the scanning signature it left was unmistakable.

Accessing her records and the Joint Tactical Network, Cora double checked to make sure there wasn't another Fog ship in the area. She already knew there wasn't, but she checked anyway.

What was more interesting, was by her calculations, the Klein Field had come from _land_.

Cora smiled her trademark wicked smile, already deciding not to report this, at least not yet.

She adjusted her course back the way she came, slowly looping her mammoth ship body around, homing in on on the location where she had detected the Klein Field.

Maybe this all wasn't going to be so boring after all.

* * *

Author's Note:

Call To Arms, by The Black Angels


	19. Aftermath

Rosie had just violated the most important rule and aspect of her entire mission. What was currently more concerning to her, though, was the fact that she now regretted not violating it sooner.

She had been able to keep Marcus alive by sealing his wounds with nanomaterial to stop the bleeding. She had then tried in vain to replicate Marcus's blood, but despite how accurate it was, his body had seemed to reject it. She knew quite a bit about human anatomy (her mental model was an exact replica, down to almost the tiniest detail) but she had been unable to replicate blood to the extent that she had needed to for him.

The Air Force had arrived only minutes after Marcus had passed out and she had performed her impromptu, ineffective surgery on him and they had stormed the house to find her clutching his unconscious form to her, surrounded by bodies of the attackers and crying so hard that she had barely been able to concentrate on keeping him from bleeding even worse.

Now, she was riding in the back of a Humvee, which was tailing a speeding APC that contained Marcus and the Airmen in the small group who had medical experience. This was the hardest part for her. She had to let him bleed a little. She hoped that her nanomaterial that was replicating his flesh wouldn't be spotted by the Airmen currently operating on him and when he arrived at the hospital, she was going to have to figure out a way to move the nanomaterial without anyone noticing and without killing Marcus in the process.

She wasn't crying at this point; rather a shock had seemed to set in where she was frozen and nearly inoperable. Her T-shirt was also coated in Marcus's blood, something that bothered her immensely.

"Ma'am?" Sergeant Sullivan snapped her out of this trance.

She was thankful that there was someone she had met before on this patrol. She would find out later that Sergeant Sullivan had volunteered his vehicle to be one of the ones that responded to Marcus's call.

"Yes...?" she said weakly, looking up at him.

Sullivan had turned from his spot in the front passenger seat to face her; she was sitting directly behind him.

He handed her back Marcus's small pistol which he had confiscated from her when he had seen that she had possessed it. She had refused for a moment, not wanting to give up something so valuable to Marcus, who had entrusted her with it, but she knew it was the proper thing to do and she had finally acquiesced.

Now, she was puzzled that he would give it back.

"I unloaded the magazine," Sullivan said, showing her the eight bullets in his other hand before he pocketed them. "I'll escort you into the hospital myself. Nobody should bother you about it."

He cocked the slide back which locked in place to signify the weapon was empty.

"Just hold it like this, not by the grip, and leave the slide alone," he said, holding the gun upside down by the slide as a demonstration before handing it to her. "You shouldn't have any problems."

"So, what the fuck just happened, Technical Sergeant?" the young female Airman who was driving the Humvee (and was the only other occupant) asked, keeping her eyes fully on the road as the Humvee shook and shuddered violently with every bump they hit at the speed they were going

"If I had to guess, it was a fucking assassination attempt," Sullivan growled. "Probably what's left of the Column, or something. They found out where he was at and hit him during a goddamn island lockdown when we don't have as many patrols out."

"But why would they do that?" Rosie asked

"Simple," Sullivan said, turning to look at her again. "He hurt them. _Bad_. And almost everyone on Oahu knows the stories of the Hardy family. People like the Column don't let things like that slide."

Rosie felt tears welling in her eyes again. "He did this to protect me..."

"Yeah, that's what he does," Sullivan replied. "Battle of Honolulu? He saved _my_ ass."

Rosie looked up at Sullivan, who smiled a little. "He's going to be just fine; this motherfucker is _impossible_ to kill."

Though, the man didn't sound at all convinced in what he was saying.

Marcus hadn't _needed_ to save her, Rosie thought as she felt tears stream down her face. If she had just convinced him to stay with her, maybe the Air Force would have gotten there in time to stop the attack in the first place.

If she had just told him how she had known there were men outside the house, or what she was, she might have convinced him to stay. Better yet, if she had committed to violating her orders just five minutes before she had, he at least wouldn't be in the condition he was in.

Dropping the harmless pistol in her lap and burying her face in her hands, Rosie continued crying, mildly irritated with herself that she had restarted crying at all. She was a quantum computer yet she had hesitated for an eternity and Marcus was on the edge of death because of it.

For the seven minutes she had sat in Marcus's closet, it felt as if her Union Core was going to implode. She had done this to him. And it was all because she didn't want to violate the orders she had been given ten years ago.

Before she could stop it, yet another thought occurred to her. If Marcus died, no one left alive would have witnessed what she was. She wasn't able to control this thought and it snuck into her mind before she even realized it.

Even for a picosecond, she may have considered this a viable option. That was far too long a time for her to allow such a terrible thought.

Suddenly, Rosie felt physically ill, which was yet another new sensation for her. She couldn't believe that she, even for barely a moment, had considered Marcus dying to be acceptable, even though his survival guaranteed that she had violated her mission perimeters.

It was all, all of it, simply too much for even her, a quantum computer to handle. All of these thoughts and these emotions; all of the outside stimuli she was experiencing. In the end, she could barely focus on any one thing, instead simply crying.

She decided to leave her emotions turned on, though, because she feared what she might might do if she swtiched them off. As miserable as she was, she at least knew where she stood now, to some degree.

The only thing she really knew for sure was that she desperately didn't want Marcus to die.

* * *

The pair of vehicles made it to what Rosie determined was Pearl Harbor-Hickam Joint Air Force and Navel base a few minutes later and they were quickly routed through the gates by the posted guards.

Pulling up the the base's hospital, Rosie was escorted by Sergeant Sullivan into the waiting room, clutching Marcus's pistol tightly to her chest the entire time.

She now sat rigid in one of the basic chairs of the hospital's sparse waiting room, Sergeant Sullivan sitting nervously a few feet away.

No one said a word to her, as nurses and other medical personnel ran this way and that as they admitted the new patient, who, according to what Rosie could hear, was barely alive.

The most difficult part of the night was rapidly approaching.

Rosie now had to calculate just when she could release the nanomaterial plugs (simulating his flesh) she had placed in Marcus's wounds to keep him from bleeding out without any of the medical personnel operating on him noticing and without possibly killing him.

She was nearly certain her crude attempt at first aid had indeed saved his life for the time being, but she had to now clear the way for the people who (hopefully) knew what they were doing and she had to now minimize the chance of anyone else discovering anything remotely strange that could further jeopardize her identity.

Time seemed to be at a complete stop. It took all of Rosie's willpower to keep from fidgeting, something that she hadn't had to consciously prevent often. At least, she noted with a hint of satisfaction, that she was no longer crying. Now she simply felt drained; too shocked and disoriented to even be _able_ to cry. She must have plainly looked it, too, because no one, Not Sergeant Sullivan nor anyone one else even so much as attempted to speak to her.

Rosie waited for another few minutes, before she directed the nanomaterial that was blocking Marcus's wounds to slowly take the form of blood.

This was a delicate balancing act. She hoped that if she did it slowly enough, that the wounds' further bleeding would be quickly noticed and would be firmly sealed by whomever was operating on Marcus, before the effect of removing these stopgaps harmed him further.

Over the next five minutes, Rosie slowly converted all of the nanomaterial attached to him into blood and once it all was, she began to call back each individual particle to her without drawing any attention. She did this in such a way that the minute particles of nanomaterial wouldn't be noticed by a human's naked eye. She also doubted that any human technology anywhere in the world, much less anything located the desolate island of Oahu would be able to detect the oddity of nanomaterial floating about, so Rosie didn't give this a second thought.

Instead, after she had converted all of said nanomaterial to blood, all she had to focus on now was returning it all to her mental model. Marcus's condition was now entirely out of her hands; there was nothing more she could do.

Trying very hard not to resume crying (maybe she wasn't so shocked after all) Rosie spend the next five hours on her task, not acknowledging or speaking to anyone. She was only, after a time, even vaguely aware that Sergeant Sullivan was in the room with her and barely aware of the fact that he left the room multiple times, only to return short periods later.

Wherever Marcus was, he was far enough away where she could hear nothing directly pertaining to him, unless someone happened to discuss it closer to her. She thought briefly about attempting to hack into the hospital's security system, but was afraid that that action might be noticed somehow, especially given how sloppy she feared she would b, given her emotional state. Her position here was currently precarious at best, so, despite being desperate for any updates on Marcus, Rosie decided not to press her luck

Once all of the nanomaterial had been successfully returned to the body of her mental model, Rosie had nothing left to concentrate on other than anything that was standard operating procedures for her. Meaning, she was left with nothing to occupy her mind with except Marcus.

The next hour felt almost as long as the five that had proceeded it.

Fiddling absentmindedly with Marcus's pistol, she was amazed at how something that had seemed so tiny compared to Marcus was so large to her. She was careful to hold it in the way Sergeant Sullivan had instructed her, assuming that this way made it seem as though it wasn't currently a threat. Or perhaps was merely a lessened one. She knew full well how nervous humans could become around firearms.

Rosie was nearly certain her Union Core might just rupture from all of the emotional strain she was under, when suddenly a military Doctor entered the room.

Sergeant Sullivan stood and went to the position of attention as the Doctor (obvious even to Rosie that he was an officer) made his way to Sergeant Sullivan and shook the man's hand.

"Good morning, Sergeant. I'm Doctor Alvarez. You're the one who brought him in, right?"

Doctor Alvarez was a relatively short man with dark, somewhat graying hair, dark intelligent eyes and tanned skin. He wore a look of pure exhaustion and Rosie immediately calculated that this was the man who was just operating on Marcus.

"I know who you are, sir. And that's correct. But this is his friend, Rosie," Sullivan replied, gesturing to her. "She was there when it happened. You should talk to her first."

"Very well," Alvarez nodded gravely, before turning and approaching Rosie, politely stopping a few feet from her. He then seemed to notice that she held a gun in her hands, clasped tightly to her chest and he turned slightly towards Sullivan.

"She's allowed to have that," Sullivan nodded. "It's Marcus's. It isn't loaded."

Seemingly satisfied, Alvarez returned his gaze to her. "Rosie-"

"Is he okay...?" Rosie heard the words leaving her without having consciously summoned them.

Alvarez's lips formed a thin line and he sighed slightly. "Yes. He's currently stable. We lost him twice, but were able to restart his heart both times. He's currently under observation and we'll be keeping him in an induced coma for a little while. We had to give him a lot of blood. Personally, I don't know how he survived."

Rosie felt tears welling in her eyes for a few moments before they began streaming down her cheeks.

"He's known to do that," Sullivan said, smiling a little, relief plainly evident in his voice. "I _knew_ he'd be fine."

"May I see him...?" Rosie asked weakly.

"Of course," Alvarez nodded. "I was just about to ask if you wanted to. Please follow me."

Doctor Alvarez led Rosie and Sergeant Sullivan down a winding series of corridors (that Rosie had mapped to some extent based on the paths of nanomaterial she had traced back to her mental model) past numerous hospital staff, until they finally arrived at a room that was clearly the closest to where they performed major surgeries for the patients in the worst conditions.

Rosie followed Alvarez into the room dreading what Marcus might look like now.

And suddenly, he came into view, laying serenely in a bed hooked up to more machines than Rosie would have guessed possible. He had a tube running into his mouth and he was covered in wires and other assorted tubes that Rosie could only ascertain were instrumental in helping keep him alive. The machines made various beeping noises and one displayed his vital signs, including his pulse and other heart activities. Rosie was mostly aware of how all of this worked but decided right then that she was going to become an expert at it.

His face, though, was what stunned her the most. This was the most peaceful he had ever looked, which was a stark contrast to his condition and where he was. He wasn't having any nightmares, she realized. The medically induced coma he was in must have been a perfect blackout, which she imagined, for him, might just be a blessing.

"This kid just refuses to die," Doctor Alvarez marveled. "I was here after the Battle of Honolulu when he was brought in. It was the same case then, too. We don't know how he pulled through."

"Toughest son of a bitch I've ever seen," Sergeant Sullivan added. "How long do you think he'll be out?"

"We'll keep him drugged and under observation for another two days, at least," Alvarez replied. "After that, we'll just have to see."

"May I stay here?" Rosie asked, looking around the room, which contained a rudimentary bench that she could lay on and a small bathroom where she could keep up appearances of being human. This room had far more than she really needed and she could stay here indefinitely, which she was certainly intending to do.

Leaving Marcus here like this alone was unthinkable to her.

"Rosie," Sullivan began. "We have accommodations being set up for you right now. I figured you'd want to see him but we should really get you to your room. You can come back in the morning."

"No," Rosie whispered, a tear streaming down her cheek. "No, I can't do that. I can't leave him. After what he just did for me?"

Sullivan looked sympathetic, as Doctor Alvarez discreetly observed their conversation.

"Doctor?" Sullivan asked. "Would it be fine if she stayed here for a while? I'm off shift in a minute, but my replacement's on his way. He can always get Rosie to where she needs to go whenever she wants to."

"I don't see the issue," Alvarez sighed. "She just can't bring that gun out of this room without supervision from one of you."

"Rosie?" Sullivan turned to her. "That's the best I can do for you."

"That's fine," she said, not taking her eyes off of the still form of Marcus and clutching his firearm tightly. "There won't be any issues."

"I'll let the charge nurse know," Alvarez said, taking one last admiring glance at Marcus before leaving the room.

Moments later, Sullivan's radio, located on his hip, chirped for his attention and he gestured for Rosie to remain where she was before leaving the room.

Now alone with Marcus, Rosie was frozen to the spot for a few moments, as the beeping and buzzing of the machines provided the only noise in the room. She stood there for a couple of minutes, which felt to her like a complete eternity.

She tried in vain for a little while to quantify what she was feeling, but then attempted to give up, as it seemed to be a total waste of time.

Finally, slowly, as if approaching some sort of imminent danger, Rosie timidly moved to Marcus's bedside, delicately placed his pistol next to him, where he would likely have wanted it and extended her hands, clasping his right hand in both of hers.

And she remained that way, utterly motionless, for nearly fifteen minutes, eyes focused and rarely blinking on his still face.

Finally, a new figure appeared in the doorway.

Rosie looked up to see another male Airman, who was taller than Sergeant Sullivan. He had light pale skin and red hair and he leaned against the door frame casually.

"You must be Rosie," He said, his voice a low pitch. "I'm Staff Sergeant McNeil. Technical Sergeant Sullivan has turned responsibility of you over to me for the night."

He crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side, observing Rosie, who imagined she looked miserable, tightly clasping Marcus's hand.

"I know Sergeant Sullivan told you you could stay, but I'm going to be taking you to your assigned room. And I'm going to need to need to confiscate that pistol. I don't know what Sullivan was thinking when he let you keep that."

"But Marcus gave it to _me_ ," Rosie stuttered. "I can't let anyone take it."

"I don't care," McNeil said, striding towards her.

"That's _quite_ enough Staff Sergeant."

McNeil froze, only a couple steps into the room as this new voice, a female one with a tone strikingly similar to ice washed over them.

Then, a woman was standing in the doorway, hands clasped firmly behind her back possessing an expression that completely lacked any amusement whatsoever. This woman had dark brown skin and sharp eyes. She stood only around five and a half feet (still towering over Rosie) but by the way she carried herself, she might as well have been seven feet tall.

Everything about this woman was flawless from her composure, to her carefully maintained straight black hair that reached just above her collar, to her perfectly pressed and kept Air Force uniform, to the finely polished sidearm she wore on her right hip. Rosie instantly knew who this was, judging by the name tape on her uniform and what she had heard from the conversation between Marcus and Governor Inouye a few days before.

McNeil looked like he had been hit with a bucket of frigid water. He stood up straight, arms firmly clasped to his sides and remained utterly still.

"I just ran into Sergeant Sullivan," the woman said in her icy tone. "He filled me on on any details I was unaware of. What I _am_ aware of was that he got permission for this young lady to hold onto Senior Master Sergeant Hardy's unloaded firearm directly from Major Watts, meaning it sounds to me like you were about to violate a direct order from a superior."

She strode around until she was standing in front of McNeil. She looked up at him, but from what Rosie was seeing, she was actually looking down at him from a considerable distance.

"Isn't that right, Sergeant?"

"...Yes ma'am..." McNeil finally answered.

The woman lowered her voice to a seething whisper, that almost even made Rosie nervous. "Now you'd best get the fuck out of my sight before I take your fucking _head_ off."

McNeil vanished from the room and Rosie turned her full attention to the woman, who spun smartly to face her and smiled so warmly, that Rosie almost didn't recognize her as the same person who had just so thoroughly dressed down Sergeant McNeil.

"Now that _that's_ out of the way," she said, her voice now full of honey; a mother's tone. "My name is General Josephine Carter and I _really_ need to speak with you."

* * *

Cora had never set foot on land before.

Of course, she didn't dwell on the experience; she had a new self assigned mission to complete.

Trudging stealthily along the beach with sand clinging to her dress, Cora made her way towards the coordinates where she had detected the Klein Field.

Leaving her ship body several miles offshore, Cora had been forced to swim to land from there. She would have rather walked across the water using her Klein Field, but she was afraid that would be noticeable by the humans, or perhaps by the very target she was currently hunting. This also prohibited her from removing the water from her dress, but she was stubborn enough that she had continued wearing it, despite how much more difficult it made her to swim and now move about on land, soaked as it was.

She couldn't have looked more out of place, which was another thought that currently eluded her as she crept up the beach and into what looked like a long abandoned neighborhood towards what sounded like a good amount of human activity.

Cora quickly discovered that a sizable military contingent was clustered in and around a house near the ocean. She doubted very much that this was unrelated to what she had detected.

Setting herself up in a position that led to good observation without getting close enough to risk detection, Cora spied on the military personnel and listened, completely fascinated, to what they were saying to each other.

She learned quite a bit.

* * *

Author's Note:

Nobody's Fault But My Own, by Beck


	20. Past

Rosie now sat on the room's bench, General Carter sitting across from her in a chair that had just been brought in (General Carter could sure make things happen quickly) in a position where she could observe both Rosie and the still form of Marcus with just a slight swivel of her head.

Marcus hadn't moved in the slightest. Rosie had of course refused to leave the room, which General Carter had acquiesced to, deciding that the conversation she needed to have with Rosie could take place right here. The medical machines still made their noises and Rosie took more comfort in that than anything. They meant that Marcus was still alive.

General Carter had silenced the radio on her left hip so she could speak to Rosie without distraction and she now held Marcus's pistol in her hands, promising Rosie that she wasn't going to take it away from her permanently. She looked at the firearm that still had the slide locked back with a gleam in her eyes of someone replaying a distant memory.

"When they found Mark, Senior that is, this was what he had in his hand," Carter said, turning the small pistol over in her hands and examining it more closely. "It was just like this. He had used or handed out to others every single round of ammunition for all three weapons he had on him, including this, his second sidearm."

"You knew Marcus's father?" Rosie asked, glancing down at the pistol in Carter's hands, and back up at the woman's despondent face.

Carter smiled a little, her gaze seemingly miles away. "Of course I knew him. He was my Chief."

Rosie cocked her head slightly in confusion and Carter laughed; it was a most pleasant sound.

"I guess Marcus didn't tell you much, did he?" she observed. "He wasn't known to talk much about anything he went through, so I'm not exactly surprised."

Carter breathed deeply. "When the Battle of Honolulu took place, I was the commanding officer of the defense. I was the Security Forces squadron commander for a long time and Mark was my chief enlisted supervisor. We worked together in that capacity for nearly three years, but I knew him since the moment he got here. So, given all that, when the Column hit us we were right there together on the front lines, along with Marcus."

Sighing, Carter looked at Rosie. "In the early stages of the fight, I stuck my head up a little too far, trying to get a good look at the enemy's position."

She tapped her left collarbone. "Took a bullet right here. Didn't stay awake for long after that. And this kid," she gestured to Marcus, "was the one that carried me out. He hauled me all the way to the nearest medical evacuation point. Then, after that he went right back in after his Dad."

She pulled the empty magazine out of the pistol and ratcheted the slide forward before slapping the magazine back in place. "Anyway, this pistol was something that Mark had on him at all times. His father bought it around 2010, so Mark told me, and he gave it to Mark before he passed. It was Mark's most treasured possession. Now it belongs to Marcus. The only reason we let you hang onto it was we understand what it means to Marcus. The fact that he handed it to you in the first place says a lot about you, I think."

Carter smiled ruefully. "Anyway, I haven't seen this pistol, or Marcus, in a long, long time. I'm not sure he ever left Iroquois Point after he moved there. Well, I guess he did, since you were there, but I'm sure you understand what I mean."

"I do," Rosie whispered, looking at the ground.

"Mark was one of the best friends I've ever had. And Marcus is like my own child; I watched him grow up," Carter said quietly. "I wish I had made more time to visit him, but I'm not sure that's what he wanted."

Carter turned to Marcus and gazed at him warmly for a few moments, before she turned back to Rosie. "So, Rosie, what I need for you to do for me please, is to tell me everything that happened at the house."

"I didn't see anything," Rosie said quietly. "I was in the upstairs bedroom closet for the entire time."

"Well, what did you _hear_?" Carter pressed. "Please... Any details you can give me will be incredibly helpful."

Rosie didn't see the harm in being honest here, so she told Carter as many details about what she had heard as possible, calculating what was likely for a human to hear under those circumstances and sharing anything that qualified.

General Carter listened with rapt attention and Rosie could tell that the woman, not unlike a quantum computer, was thoroughly absorbing every single detail that was relayed to her, only interrupting when she had a question of vital importance to ask.

It took Rosie nearly ten minutes to convey to General Carter everything she deemed worthy to mention, before she concluded her retelling with the slight lie that she had gone downstairs to investigate after things had been quiet for a little while, only to find Marcus unconscious and nearly dead.

"Sergeant Jimenez told me that she lost contact with you," Carter stated. "Were you disconnected?"

"Yes," Rosie nodded once. "And I was so distracted and worried, I didn't think to call her back."

"It was very brave of you to go after him like that."

Rosie shook her head. "No, not at all. I hadn't heard anything in a while; no gunshots, no voices; just the alarm system. I didn't think there was any danger left. And when Marcus didn't come back... I couldn't _not_ go... It was brave what he did for _me_."

Carter smiled a little at this. "I'm not sure Marcus would agree with you. He doesn't consider himself brave."

Rosie tried to return the smile, but her lips wouldn't cooperate. "Yes, I suppose. He told me that's just the way he's programmed."

Carter gave a laugh. "He had that conversation with you too, huh? Yeah, him and his 'programming'. He refuses to take any credit for anything he's accomplished. We had to pretty much force him to accept his Medal of Honor; he said he didn't deserve it. Utter nonsense; of _course_ he deserved it."

"What exactly did he do?" Rosie looked up, meeting the General's gaze. "You said he saved you. What else? He hasn't told me anything."

"Are you sure you'd like to know?" Carter asked, softly.

"Yes. More than anything. Whatever happened to him irrevocably changed him, I think. I just... want to know why."

Carter sighed. "Okay... Well, in the first stages of the fight, Marcus did what he was best at: he set up a sniping position and began picking off any enemy target he could find. He was one of the best marksmen I've ever seen; a natural with a rifle. So, he did that for a while."

The General glanced at Marcus's still form for a moment, before she returned her gaze to Rosie and continued. "Then things really began getting chaotic. After I got hit, with the wounded piling up, Mark took command and ordered Marcus and a few others to begin evacuating the wounded out. He put Marcus in charge of that. According to reports, we thought we had the battle in hand. Turns out, the Column's most vicious assault was yet to come... Marcus carried me and another six wounded people out, one at a time. That's when he took the first bullet; a hit to his left forearm. Mind you, this is all what was reported to me by eyewitness accounts and by Marcus himself; I was long out by this point. Marcus could have allowed himself to be evacuated out after he was hit, but he refused. He wanted to get back to the line; back to his father. After carrying the first six of us out, he tried to get back five more times, but always found someone else who needed to be carried out first. One of those was Sergeant Sullivan, who I believe you've met. Then, Marcus was shot again, in his stomach this time. He hid the extent of that one, apparently, so no one really knew. He just kept trying to get back to the line."

Tears were beginning to form in Rosie's eyes and Carter noticed.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked quietly.

"No," Rosie whispered, wiping the tears from her eyes before they could fall on their own. This was in the past and Marcus had survived it. Why was this affecting her so much? "Please continue."

Nodding, Carter sighed again. "By this point, everyone other than Marcus who had been assigned to the evacuation mission in the first place were either dead, or too injured to continue. No one was left to tell him to stop. It was all pure, unbridled chaos. On his last trip back to the line, Marcus ran into four Column fighters that had gotten through and he killed them all, but he got hit twice more, in his right leg and the left side of his chest, which punctured his lung. That bullet had just missed the armor plate in his vest, too. Another quarter of an inch over and it wouldn't have touched him."

Carter paused for a moment, to rub her eyes. Her tone made it clear that she wasn't terribly fond of talking about this part of the story, especially.

"We don't know how he was still moving, honestly. What _he_ couldn't have known was that if he'd waited five minutes, reinforcements would have arrived and he wouldn't have been allowed to continue. He was never about waiting... Anyway, he made it within twenty feet of Mark, who was gone by then. Then an RPG hit right next to him; the shrapnel tore into his back and his left leg and shredded them horribly and that was it. A few minutes later they found him, barely clinging to life and they managed to get him back here in one piece, more or less. He died three times on the operating table but they kept bringing him back. Everyone who was there that I spoke to about it told me that they'd never seen anything like it. Four bullets, a ton of shrapnel, a collapsed lung and extreme blood loss. We didn't have the resources to help him make a complete recovery, obviously. He still has shrapnel embedded in his body and he's in constant pain. So, he loses his father, and is permanently hurt. Then, to make matters worse, what was left of his life collapsed soon after."

"His fiance," Rosie sniffled a little, wiping another tear away.

"I'm surprised he told you about that," Carter stated, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"He didn't at first," Rosie said. "I walked in on him sleeping. He was having a nightmare. I laid down next to him, just because I didn't want him to be alone, and..." She trailed off, not at all sure why she was sharing this with General Carter.

"Oh, I see," she responded knowingly. "Are you okay, Rosie?"

"Yes. He didn't hurt me very much. He thinks he did, but he didn't."

"Either way, that likely devastated him," Carter replied sadly. "He told me that he never wanted to do that to anyone else... I was a little hesitant when Governor Inouye approached me about making a decision for Marcus to live out on Iroquois Point, but after I talked to Marcus about it, I couldn't in good conscious block it from happening. After everything he's done and everything that's happened to him, I couldn't refuse him something like that. Neither could the Governor."

Carter sighed again. "So, we let him live out there and we let him drink as much as he wants and that's where he's been for three years. Who are any of us to tell him how to live? He's earned to right to do as he pleases as far as I'm concerned, even if I don't exactly approve of all of it. I _am_ glad that he met you, Rosie. He needs friends, even if he doesn't think he does. I'm sorry about what just happened."

"Do you know who it was who attacked us?" Rosie asked.

"Yes," Carter nodded. "One of them survived. He was unconscious when we found him, but he's stable. We woke him up a few hours ago and he's been... quite cooperative. It was the Fifth Column Remnant. They've been quiet for years; decided now was the time to pick off certain people. They were going to start with Marcus and then make an attempt on the Governor."

She smiled broadly. "And on myself and other military leaders, apparently."

"But how did they know he was there at all?" Rosie asked. "I thought it was a secret?"

"Oh, it certainly was," Carter's voice adorned the icy quality that was her first impression. "He was sold out by one of our own. We have him in custody now, don't worry."

"Who...?" Rosie whispered disbelievingly. "Who would do that? Why...?"

"I'm afraid that's all I can tell you at the moment," Carter said. "Rest assured, there _will_ be a reckoning for what's happened tonight."

There was a moment of pause as Rosie reflexively glanced at Marcus, before she turned to the floor in front of her.

"General..." she began. "I'd like to stay here with Marcus, please. I don't want to leave him."

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Carter asked, glancing around the room. "It won't be terribly comfortable here."

"I don't care. If at all possible, I won't leave him."

Thinking on this for a moment, Carter finally nodded. "Very well. I'll have them bring you clean clothes and a cot that you can sleep on. I'll also make sure you're assigned a Security Forces escort. Any time you need to leave the building, they'll be with you. There's also a room for you at the base's lodging facility, if you choose to stay there. At the very least, it's available to you when you need to shower. Meals will be provided for you whenever you're hungry. I'm afraid, given all that's going on, you're not going to be able to leave the base for a little while. If you think of anything you need from the house, let someone know. We have a full contingent out there now and there they'll stay until Marcus wakes up."

"Will you let him live out there after this?" Rosie asked.

"No, we can't," Carter's eyes illustrated her sadness at this. "Soon, everyone will know what happened. His secrecy and therefor his security is entirely compromised. I'm not looking forward to that conversation with him, but he'll understand. We'll let him live just about anywhere else he asks; he just has to figure out where that is."

Carter stood up, and straightened her already perfect uniform. "Unfortunately, I need to be off. I just wanted to stop by and check in."

She laughed again, only slightly this time. "It doesn't look like I'll be sleeping much the next couple of days."

"I don't think I will, either," Rosie muttered, the irony of her statement not lost on her.

"Well, do try. I know Marcus would want you to be comfortable."

General Carter moved to the foot of Marcus's bed, held the pistol in her left hand and snapped to full attention, rendering the most crisp salute Rosie had ever seen.

"God speed, kid," she said, before turning back to Rosie. "Try to relax. He's through the worst of it."

"General Carter," Rosie said.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Thank you so much. For everything."

Carter just smiled. "Any friend of Marcus is a friend of mine. And a friend of the United States Air Force. It was lovely meeting you, Rosie, though I do wish it were under better circumstances."

And with that Carter handed the pistol back to Rosie, grabbed her radio from her belt, turned the volume up and began speaking into it as she left the room.

Even though the woman was walking away, Rosie heard a substantial part of what she said.

"Major Watts? I need another volunteer five minutes ago to keep an eye on our civilian. She'll be staying with him. Someone you trust implicitly. We'll discuss babysitting shifts shortly... Oh, and we need to talk about Sergeant McNeil..."

Before too long, her voice was too far out of range for even Rosie to hear. But that was just fine; Rosie had really liked General Carter.

Dragging her chair to Marcus's bedside, Rosie laid his pistol next to him and pick up his left hand with both of hers and held it for nearly an hour before she realized how strange that probably would look sooner or later.

So, she laid her head down next to him, but continued steadfastly holding his hand with one of her own. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, as nurses came in and left at irregular intervals to check on Marcus.

Before too long, the cot that Carter had said was coming arrived, delivered by a pair of Airman. Despite that, Rosie stayed at Marcus's bedside, her head laid next to him, and pretending to sleep for the remainder of the night.

Even over the noise of the machines, she could hear his heartbeat perfectly.

She had never heard such a comforting sound.

* * *

Author's Note:

Codex, by Radiohead


	21. Monumental

The next two days passed by incredibly uneventfully, which Rosie (even if somewhat bored) took more as a blessing than anything else. She rarely left Marcus's room, having only even left the building once, under Sergeant Sullivan's supervision (he had volunteered to take the day shift of twelve hours keeping an eye on her, for which she was grateful) where he had escorted her to her room where she had showered unnecessarily (she had long since cleaned Marcus's blood off of her).

This was the same principle that directed her to eat at least twice a day and spend time in the room's small bathroom, doing nothing at all, all in the name of keeping up appearances of being human.

Marcus was slowly recovering and Doctor Alvarez had informed her that the next day they would reevaluate his condition and see if he would be strong enough to be able to be taken off of the medication that was keeping him in a coma. If they did that, it would then be entirely up to Marcus when he'd wake up.

In the meantime, Rosie had (calculating zero chance of her being noticed by doing this) accessed and scoured every hospital medical database she could find in her range (which was a great deal of the building) and she had consumed every single shred of knowledge on human medical care. She knew a great deal about human anatomy initially, now she wanted to know how to keep it in one piece. No tidbit of knowledge about this was too small to be passed over; she memorized it all. Medical care, the compounds of drugs used, how the machinery and tools worked, what exactly the doctors and nurses were doing when they checked in on Marcus; the works. She even began running tests to find out if her nanomaterial created blood could ultimately be accepted by Marcus's body. That was the trickiest aspect to perform. She had wished she had thought of doing a knowledge gathering mission about human medical care earlier, but she knew that there was nothing about her mission up to this point that had demanded it, so she understood that it was a past decision she was just going to have to live with and learn from

It was the early afternoon and Rosie sat in her now customary place at Marcus's bedside, holding his left hand delicately in both her own. In addition to showering today, she had finally gotten her nanomaterial dress and shoes back from the house, (which she wasn't wearing at the time of the attack) which were delivered to her that day. Wearing them, she felt entirely herself.

The primary problem was that she hadn't been able to speak to Marcus in nearly three whole days. The longest amount of time she had gone without interacting with him during her stay at his home was nine hours, twenty-one minutes and thirty-seven seconds, and _that_ had seemed like forever. Now, it was like forever compounded. The only comfort she had was that she was told (and she could now observe, given what she was learning) that his condition was only improving.

There had been a parade of visitors coming to check on him. They were almost entirely military members, usually ones that possessed high ranks, but many of them were people who knew or had served with Marcus personally.

Rosie tried to be as affable as possible and she was actually thankful for these distractions when they came along. Even now, after everything that had happened, Rosie still found herself drawn towards her original primary mission, which was interacting with people and learning about them.

The best news was that many of them had brought flowers and Rosie had personally arranged them around the room as her sensibilities dictated.

The most surprising visitors, ultimately, had been Governor Inouye and his wife Rachel the day before.

Rosie would find out from the Governor and his wife that they had been in a specially constructed bunker ever since her sister, Cora, had arrived and they weren't supposed to leave it for another few days yet. But, neither could be swayed and the Air Force and Marines had been forced to spend a day putting together an escort plan and then had to see the Governor and his wife to the base hospital safely.

Talking to the two of them had been truly enlightening. She learned a lot about their history and even more specific details on Marcus and his father. Of course, they had wanted to know all about her, so Rosie once again had to deploy the ever more detailed cover story that she had first used on Marcus.

They had stayed for nearly four hours, chatting with her, and she was thankful she had been able to continue the conversation mostly unfettered. She had always thought she was relatively good at conversation, but her recent bouts of emotional distress seemed to lessen that ability greatly, the more profound the emotions were.

The good news there was that she was, as far as she knew, as much in control of herself as she could expect, given her dramatic emotional evolution of the past week. At the very least, she hadn't cried since the night she and Marcus had arrived at the hospital and she was incredibly pleased about that. She had cried a lot lately and she wasn't terribly fond of it, truth be told, even if it in fact meant she was displaying raw emotion effectively.

Of course, she could always disable her emotional functions, but one of the orders pertaining to her mission was that she not do so. Rosie always thought that was because Yamato wanted all of her observations to be viewed through the lens of emotion, and her recent conversation with the Supreme Flagship had all but confirmed that. So, Rosie decided once again to leave all of her current routines activated. It only helped her decision that she didn't want to stop caring for Marcus and she was a little afraid that if she turned her emotion settings off, that perhaps she wouldn't anymore. This was a risk that she was entirely unwilling to take.

Though, despite all of this, even with the distraction of visitors, the constant hacking and learning from every computer database in the hospital she could access and Rosie having a seemingly firm control over herself, she still had _plenty_ of time to think.

And, of course, since she was keeping emotions turned on, she was thinking about what was happening to her and what exactly Marcus meant to her.

Was it possible that her feelings were some form of a reproductive urge? That wouldn't make sense in the slightest, as the Fog had absolutely no way to reproduce and even if they could, it would be impossible with humans. Why would the mental models replicate something that made no sense from any standpoint?

She reflected on the moment she was about to kiss Marcus and had to rethink everything once again. Maybe an earlier thought of hers was correct. Maybe mental models, at least in her case, were proving to be such effective copies of humans that they were getting the primal urges of them, including the urge to mate.

Was she, on some subconscious level, physically attracted to Marcus and had chosen him to help her bear offspring that would be utterly impossible to create?

As with many thoughts and concepts, especially recently, Rosie simply didn't know the answers. And no amount of cyclical thinking, or revisiting concepts, or reanalyzing data could seem to bring her closer to any finite truths.

The only thing she knew for a fact was that she was irrevocably drawn to Marcus and only wanted to be around him, as much as she could in any way that she could. At this juncture, she had long since accepted this, even if she didn't understand any of the details of just _why_ she felt this way.

She studied his still face, almost content if not for the fact that she wasn't able to talk to him. She held his hand gently and felt the warmth radiating off of him. Then, she closed her eyes and lowered her head, bringing her cheek into contact with the back of his hand. She marveled at the feeling of his skin on hers; of the slight electrical pulses he seemed to emit; of the sudden overflowing sense of happiness she felt at this particular contact, which felt more intimate to her than simply holding his hand.

A new thought occurring to her, she altered her position ever so slightly and delicately placed her lips on the back of his hand, softly kissing it. She was amazed at the sudden calmness she felt as she did so. She wondered then, if they hadn't been attacked, what would have happened if she had kissed him for real.

She glanced up at Marcus's face again and was happy for perhaps the millionth time how still and calm he appeared. Rosie hoped dearly he wasn't dreaming. Hopefully he was just in a machine-like shutdown mode, allowing his body to heal itself. At the very least, she hoped (and in all likelihood it seemed) that he wasn't having nightmares.

Rosie then heard very familiar footsteps that perfectly reflected the forward charging nature of the person causing them. She waited until they were almost to the slightly open door of the room before turning and seeing General Carter, who made eye contact with her and smiled.

Carter had, without fail, visited every day and Rosie had calculated a one hundred percent chance that this would be occurring today as well.

It was nice being right.

Smiling, Carter clasped her hands behind her back in a most professional manner. "Ah, right where I left you two; very good. Doing okay today, Rosie?"

Rosie nodded and returned the smile. "Yes, thank you. Doctor Alvarez says that they may take Marcus off of the drugs tomorrow."

"That's what I've heard," Carter replied satisfactorily. "Don't you ever get tired of sitting there like that?"

"No. Should I...?"

Carter laughed. "No, I'm just messing with you. I think it's sweet. It's also nice to know there's someone here keeping an eye on him. That's a big relief, trust me."

"There's nowhere else I want to be," Rosie said simply. "Marcus saved my life. The least I can do is keep him company."

Carter cocked her head slightly and looked at Rosie with an expression of admiration. "Well, be that as it may," the General said, "I'd like you to come with me, for a little while. There's something I'd like you to see."

* * *

A few minutes later, Rosie was sitting in Carter's personal Humvee, in the front passenger seat, with Sergeant Sullivan riding behind her. Sullivan, who had been killing the time of his shift in the waiting room reading, had offered to drive, but Carter wouldn't be swayed from driving herself. Rosie quite admired the General's hands on approach to doing things. It reminded her of Marcus.

"One of the first things the Governor requested after the battle of Honolulu, after we figured out everything that had happened, was the construction of a certain monument," Carter stated, eyes not leaving the road of one of the base's larger routes. "I thought maybe you'd like to see it. It's located outside of the main command building."

"If you recommend it, I certainly would," Rosie replied, gazing out of the window at all of the hustle and bustle of the military establishment. There were so many personnel and they seemed to be doing so many things; everyone seemed to have a task and everyone seemed to be performing it. Rosie wondered if the military on the mainland, which she had never really gotten a good glimpse at. She had seen plenty of patrols and uniformed military personnel out performing their duties, but she had never set foot on a military base before, the risk of exposing her identity deemed to great to bother with it.

"Is it always this busy here?" she asked.

"Oh, no," Carter replied casually. "With what happened the other night, we've been extra occupied. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you."

Rosie assumed that meant that the military of Oahu was presumably going after anyone connected with what had happened at Iroquois Point, but to be fair, she really didn't care. All she cared about was Marcus; he was all that concerned her.

"Oh," was all she said to this.

When the Humvee arrived at its destination, Rosie stepped out of the vehicle and politely followed Carter, with Sullivan silently bringing up the rear.

They arrived at a pair of life size statues constructed from wood, with a dedication plaque in front of them. Rosie recognized one of the statues instantly.

It was Marcus.

The wood facsimile was impressively accurate and it was unmistakably him. He was wearing a vest, helmet and full combat gear, with an unidentifiable Airman flung over his left shoulder and he was carrying an assault rifle in his right hand. The look of grim determination on his face was remarkably similar to the look she had seen when he had woken up and attacked her.

Rosie didn't even need to read the plaque to know that the statue next to Marcus was of his father. The wooden figure of Mark wore nearly identical combat gear to the one of Marcus. He gripped a wood replica the pistol that Rosie had grown to know so well in his right hand and grasped a radio in his left that he was speaking into.

It was remarkable how similar the two looked; Marcus could have easily been a younger version of his father.

Carter waited for a few moments to let Rosie take it all in before she began speaking. "This is about as accurate as we could make it. Mark kept transmitting right up until the end. The position where we all were was the one that was hit the hardest during the attack. If we had failed the hold that line, and they had gotten through, they may have made it to the base and God knows what would have happened if they had."

Rosie glanced at Carter, who was surveying the statues with her customary gaze of attentiveness, as if she were searching for flaws. Rosie would have guessed, though, that Carter had spent plenty of time right at this spot, so she could only ascertain that the monument was up the the General's standards.

Sullivan merely remained silent, as though he were paying respect to his comrades.

"This was the best we could do, really. We would have preferred bronze, of course, but we haven't been able to get that from the mainland, nor do we have the capabilities to manufacture something like that here. So, we used the resources we _do_ have and found a couple of woodworkers who were capable enough and there you have it."

Rosie read the memorial plaque quickly and the information it provided was entirely consistent with the retelling General Carter had told her.

Feeling tears beginning to well in her eyes, Rosie turned away, closed her eyes and breathed deeply, managing to get ahold of herself and keep from crying.

Thankfully, Carter (whether or not she noticed was irrelevant) kept speaking, providing a wonderful distraction. "These two are probably the most important people in this entire state since the Fog invaded. Certainly, no family has sacrificed more or worked as hard to restore and maintain peace on Hawaii. I wanted you to see this because I could tell you about how important they are to all of us all day, but it's far more effective to just _show_ you."

"I'm glad you did," Rosie agreed quietly. "I knew some things about them, but not a whole lot."

"A lot of it's still classified," Carter nodded. "Most of the civilians just know about some of the earlier missions and just the basics about the Battle of Honolulu. But, given everything that's happened to you and how close you are with Marcus, I don't see the harm in you knowing as much as possible."

Rosie looked up at the General. "You think Marcus and I are close?"

Looking stunned, Carter returned the gaze. "Yes, of course! Do you _not_ think that?"

"I don't know," Rosie turned away, saddened. "I don't know if Marcus is close to anyone. I _hope_ we are, though."

* * *

When they returned to the hospital, Carter had dropped Rosie and Sergeant Sullivan off and had been on her way. Rosie didn't think the woman needed to sleep; certainly she always seemed busy with something.

So, Sullivan resumed reading in the waiting room and casually flirting with nurses and Rosie returned to Marcus's bedside.

No sooner had she taken his hand than a set of footsteps she didn't recognize drifted to her. Rosie had, over the past three days, memorized what nearly everyone who worked in the entire area had sounded like. This person, though, was entirely unfamiliar to her.

Rosie's eyes widened in shock as she did a quick scan. This person wasn't human.

Which meant...

Suddenly a young woman dressed in military medical scrubs stepped into the room and deftly closed the door before gracefully whirling about to face Rosie.

She was a little over five and a half feet tall and had brown hair that was done up in a bun which fit within military regulations. She had dark, observant eyes and a sharp, intelligent face.

"Well, good afternoon," the mental model smiled widely, glancing quickly at Marcus before returning her penetrating gaze to Rosie. "Who might _you_ be?"

* * *

Author's Note:

Well, I was right. Film School has consumed my life. I haven't done any writing in over two weeks and this is the last chapter I had completed before I had to devote my time elsewhere. With the amount of work that I'm doing for school (including starting to write a full length screenplay) I'm not going to have too much time to write on this or any other FanFiction project. Not to mention that the next chapter, the scene between Rosie and Cora, is proving to be quite difficult to write. I'm not at all sure when that'll be ready, or how often updates will be, but I'll be doing my best. Of course, I also _just_ discovered that my roommate's aunt is a publishing agent and I have a decent chance to get some of my original work published, so I may also be working on an original novel that I've been bouncing around with for years. You know, one of the fifteen or so original stories I want to write... My primary dream is to be a published novelist, so this seems as good a chance as any to get on that. I absolutely won't abandon The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea because I adore the characters and I know pretty much how I want the entire story to go, plus I really appreciate the viewership I've developed and I don't want to let anyone down, but it's going to be in a weird state of limbo for a little while.  
Thank you all so, _so_ much with how much support you've all given this story. You guys are great! Hopefully I can get this next chapter out in the next couple of weeks. Until then, take care!

Everybody's Watching Me (Uh Oh), by The Neighbourhood


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